


Dependency III: Honor

by walkingivy



Series: Dependency [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingivy/pseuds/walkingivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is running out of time, McCoy is preoccupied with conspiracy theories, and Kirk is trying to keep the peace with a dozen Klingons aboard the Enterprise. Sequel to ‘Dependency: Secrets’.  Spones slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> .o0o.  
>  Recap:  
> In ‘Dependency,’ Spock and McCoy are captured in order to help Emperor Ninyal’s sick daughter. Spock links his mind with McCoy’s in the Vulcan equivalent of a marriage in order to protect the doctor from losing his memories for good. In return, McCoy overcomes his temporary memory loss to break Spock out of jail. The reemergence of the good doctor’s memories bring forward a repressed memory involving a forced mind meld. They escape back to the Enterprise where they inform Kirk that Ninyal was responsible for the kidnapping of a Starfleet officer, and relations with the planet are called into question. Meanwhile, McCoy’s presence on the planet sparks a movement against slavery, and they leave the planet in the midst of a Civil War. McCoy convinces Spock not to tell the captain about their new link. 
> 
> In ‘Secrets’, the secretive behavior between McCoy and Spock combine with rumors of a relationship between the two to cause tensions to arise between them and their captain. The crew faces a murderer loose on the Enterprise and strange aliens that feed off emotions who have already taken the crew of another starship. When Spock is teleported onto a planet with a unique atmospheric interference which makes their technology useless, McCoy uses their link to locate the Vulcan and attempts to use his training to sneak past the aliens. This attempt ultimately fails, but the doctor is able to wake Spock who discovers that the aliens were actually sent by a peaceful, albeit confused, creature. On the Enterprise, the murderer is discovered to be the victim’s girlfriend, Nurse Sagumpta. Kirk, having finally been informed of the link, hurries them back to Vulcan so that the link can be removed. While on Vulcan, Kirk reveals that he’d found a warning note from himself involving Klingons, and McCoy admits that he doesn’t know what happened during his forced meld.  
> .o0o.

.o0o.

Part 1

.o0o.

 

Captain Baker of the U.S.S. Pioneer took a deep, calming breath. Her momma had told her there’d be days like this. Of course, her momma had been a school teacher, so she might’ve had a different idea in mind when she’d said it. Baker had a migraine chewing on her head like a rabid coyote and the screech of the red alert was not helping.

 

“Perez, cut out that damn sound.”

 

“Aye, Captain.” The communications’ officer said, and the room went eerily quiet. Baker wasn’t sure if it was any better than the screeching.

 

She stabbed her thumb into the intercom on the side of her chair. “Bridge to Engineering.”

 

“Fairbanks here.” Her Chief Engineer was harried and there was a slight panic in his tone. He was too young for his position, no matter how smart he may be.

 

“How long ‘til it blows?”

 

“Eight minutes.”

 

Shit. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it?”

 

“Sorry, sir. The pressure build-up was already too far gone by the time we got to it.” The normally arrogant tone had dissolved into one of unabashed fear. “It’s going to take Engineering with it and when it hits the warp core-”

 

“Fairbanks.” Baker cut him off halfway through. She was not prepared to give up that easily. “Jettison the warp core and the matter-anti-matter compartment. Then evacuate Engineering.”

 

“Captain, we’ll be stuck out here without our warp drive.”

 

“But we’ll be alive.” Baker practically snarled. Now was not the time to be questioning her orders. “Do it!” They wouldn’t just lose their warp drive; they’d lose everything. All they’d have would be life support systems and minimal back-up power.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Baker turned off the intercom and swung her chair around. “Perez, get ahold of Starfleet Command. They need to know what’s happened here.”

 

“I can’t, Captain!” The mousy man exclaimed, trying twice more before turning around. “It’s completely inoperative.”

 

“Fix it!” Baker shouted, rather irrationally because Perez would have fixed it by now if he could have. Since when were the communications not working? They’d been working not three hours before when they’d reported their finds to Starfleet Headquarters. Baker decided she didn’t have time for this. Hongli had just gotten off shift not thirty minutes ago. She’d be the most likely to know anything. Baker called up security and demanded they find Hongli and take her to the brig where her First Officer might be able to get some information out of her.

 

“Stark to Bridge.” Speak of the devil.

 

“Got anything?” Baker grunted at her First Officer who was in charge of the interrogation.

 

“Still claims he didn’t do anything and doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. But something in his story… I think he may have an accomplice aboard the ship.”

 

“I’ve got a suspect heading your way.” Baker sighed and glanced at the chronometer. Five minutes left.

 

“Engineering to Bridge.”

 

“Go ahead, Fairbanks.”

 

“There’s a bomb on the warp core. I repeat, there’s a bomb on the warp core. I cannot remove the warp drive.” Fairbanks’ tone was even, and Baker considered she hadn’t given the man enough credit. Either that or he was past the point of panic.

 

It was a shame their bomb expert was up on Deck 3. By the time he got down there, it would be too late. “Can you disarm it?”

 

“No time.”

 

“All right.” Baker acknowledged. There was just one more thing she could try. “Clear Engineering and start an evacuation of the adjoining sectors.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The connection cut out.

 

“Bridge to Transporter Room.”

 

“Eddings here.”

 

“I need you to lock onto the warp core and beam it as far away from the ship as possible. And be sure to give it a wide berth. I don’t want

that bomb going off mid-transport.” Fortunately, Eddings didn’t question her orders or the fact that there was apparently a bomb on their warp drive.

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

Baker checked the time. One minute, one minute before she knew if she’d lost her entire crew. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Perez was reciting the Lord’s Prayer quietly, but otherwise there was a stillness on the bridge like the eye of a storm.

 

 

And then there was an explosion.

 

.o0o.

 


	2. Chapter 2

.o0o.

Part 2

.o0o.

McCoy had long ago concluded that there were two ways of waking up when one is injured. The first is a slow transition into wakefulness. It almost always starts with the flittering of noises filtering into the subconscious, each one bringing the sleeper closer and closer to consciousness. Then, the sleeper becomes more aware of physical sensations, like the prickling of skin over muscles that haven’t moved often enough or the soft breeze of people walking by. Finally, consciousness appears like the slow ebb and flow of ocean waves until the waters tickle their toes and the sleeper opens their eyes. The second method is much more like a light switch being thrown. The eyes may sting with the sudden brilliant light, but the room is either fully light or fully dark. Personally, McCoy had always preferred the second method because, though it was generally less pleasant, it also generally meant no drugs had been necessary.

 

When the doctor jerked awake that morning, he decided he should probably reevaluate his preference. The sudden lurch into consciousness brought with it a new form of pain: mental agony. He’d thought sleepless nights of unending biology memorization during his college days had been brutal, but that had nothing on the current sensation assaulting his mind. It felt like someone had spent the last three days trying to teach him something by smacking his brain around with a textbook. The white-hot flashes of pain that emerged every time he attempted to discover more about the mind meld on Capella felt more like a massage when compared to this new pain.

 

And then there were the physical sensations. He thought it was probably a bad sign that he couldn’t tell whether his eyes were even open or closed because the room was spinning so dreadfully. And although it made no medical sense, he’d bet good money that his head was occupied by midgets with jackhammers. He reached out blindly for the edge of what he assumed was a bed and leaned forward to release the demon clawing its way up from his stomach. His mouth burned with the foul taste of the partially digested but he hardly had the strength to flop back onto his back, not to mention find something to clear his throat. Thankfully, warm hands held his head up and tenderly pushed a cup of water to his lips.

 

The hands belonged to Spock. He could feel it, and that made him even more nauseous because that meant he was nauseous for no reason at all. The severance hadn’t worked. All this effort had been for nothing.

 

Kirk was there, too, talking softly with a woman he belatedly determined was actually Amanda. Chances were they were still on Vulcan then. McCoy wondered how long he’d been unconscious. It felt like they’d been on Vulcan for years.

 

The cup disappeared but Spock’s hand returned, resting against his forehead. The sickness quieted some, and it occurred to McCoy that there was nothing physically wrong with him. These physical side-effects were just a manifestation of T’Lar’s mental handiwork. He could feel Spock gently nudging around in his mind, checking for damage, but felt too sick to keep an eye on him as he normally would have insisted upon. What did it matter anyway? He and Spock were tethered for life now. There was no escape now and no hope for privacy in the future. If he'd thought his first marriage had been love-less, his second one was apparently to an emotionless Vulcan.

 

McCoy thought he might have disturbed Spock with his train of thought as the Vulcan withdrew quickly from his mind and pulled back his hand. He stayed on the bed for several long minutes. McCoy assumed he was watching him but couldn’t be sure as his eyes had apparently found their way shut again. McCoy felt guilty knowing that Spock had been uncharacteristically open and compassionate towards him, but he was also relieved. McCoy fell back asleep.

 

.o0o.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


.o0o.

Part 3

.o0o.

 

Kirk wasn’t afraid to admit (at least to himself) that he’d been terrified when the screaming started. It wasn’t just Bones, either. Spock had joined in in a terrible cacophony of cries, despite his proven high tolerance for pain. Then, as abruptly as they started, they ended, and it was somehow much worse. With prompting, Spock had reluctantly divulged that there was a slight possibility that this procedure could kill them both. But Kirk simply refused to believe that his friends could be dead.

 

Kirk paced back and forth in front of the stone bench where Amanda was seated, who seemed to have more confidence in the safety of her son than he did. Perhaps she knew something he didn’t. Perhaps all those years on Vulcan had taught her a thing or two about patience and stoicism.

 

Kirk, for one, was a man of action and all this waiting was not for him. He was just about to disregard Spock’s request to remain outside and personally see that his friends were okay. Spock had said that to enter the cave would gravely offend T’Lar. Kirk read between the lines that it would also reflect badly upon Spock as he had brought the captain there.

 

Fortunately, T’Lar appeared momentarily and turned her impassive face on them. Amanda was standing in an instant and positioned herself beside the captain, doing a surprisingly fine job of masking her anxiousness. T’Lar’s face was unreadable as she raised one hand and made a gesture Kirk was unfamiliar with.

 

“The severance was unsuccessful, but they both live.” Short, simple, and woefully inadequate.

 

T’Lar made to move away, but Kirk immediately stepped forward, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his arm. “May we see them?” Amanda asked.

 

T’Lar shifted out of their way. “You may enter, but they are not awake.”

 

Kirk didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried into the cave, Amanda hot on his heels. He was rather thankful that the Vulcan had not attempted to stop him because he wasn’t sure what he might have done had she forbidden him entrance. He was fairly sure that offending the Vulcans would be one of his lesser crimes.

 

The room was plain and blank, but Kirk had no mind for anything but his two friends lying motionless on the stone beds. They were so still that Kirk felt his breath catch in his throat at the thought that perhaps T’Lar had been mistaken and they were dead. Amanda hurried over to Spock and took his hand, caressing his forehead with her other hand as if he were a child. Kirk couldn’t decide who to go to first. He watched to see the rise and fall of each of their chests before inching forward.

 

It was Bones whose arm he gently grasped because the quiet stillness was more unsettling on his usually animated form. Spock could sit peacefully for hours without moving a voluntary muscle, but Bones could hardly keep still even in his sleep. It was unnerving to see him like this now. Kirk took some comfort in the warmth of the skin beneath his fingers and gave Bones’ arm a gentle squeeze. “Bones.” He called softly, leaning forward. Getting no response, he tapped the doctor’s cheek and gave him a shake. “Bones!” He said with more force, his voice awkwardly loud in the quiet of the room. Still, Bones gave no sign of waking.

 

He growled in frustration and spun around to Spock. He moved to grab the Vulcan’s shoulders, but Amanda shook her head. She didn’t look up from her intense gaze at Spock’s face as she said, “From what I’ve heard, a severance can leave both parties unconscious for several hours and weak and disoriented for days. Of course, those were successful severances performed on weak links, so they could be out for much longer. The best thing for them now is to let them rest.”

 

Kirk sighed and moved back so he could watch both of them simultaneously. He’d never envied Bones for this part of his job. The waiting was torture, but it had nothing on the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. The war had been on a front that he hadn’t any access to and now he had no way of knowing if his best friends had made it through.

 

Time held little meaning for him as the minutes drifted by, washing by him like a rock stuck in a riverbed. He counted breaths and felt for pulses, though it was more for his own comfort than a belief that he would be able to notice and to assist should anything be off.

 

Finally, footsteps echoed through the cavern entrance and Kirk looked over to see four Vulcans emerge carrying medical supplies. They ran scanners over the two unconscious people with a detached air, then transferred them both to stretchers before carrying them from the room. Kirk followed. “Where are you taking them?” He asked the nearest man.

 

“High Priestess T’Lar has asked that they be transported to the House of Sarek.” He stated simply. As they emerged, Kirk saw that they were loading Spock into a shuttle parked at the edge of the landing. “You may accompany us if you wish.”

 

Kirk did wish, greatly, and hopped into the shuttle. It was a bit cramped, particularly when Amanda joined them, but Kirk wasn’t about to separate from his friends if he could help it. He would send someone from the Enterprise to collect the shuttle they’d taken there.

 

The Vulcan he’d spoken to already looked less busy than the others who were industriously taking readings and making notes, so Kirk decided to try and make more headway with him. He looked to be fulfilling the role of a nurse of some sort. “So what can I be expecting from them?”

 

The Vulcan turned to face him and raised an eyebrow. Kirk got the feeling that this man hadn’t had much contact with humans. If he worked with T’Lar primarily, it would make sense that they were an oddity. “If you mean to inquire as to the most probable path of recuperation, it would be illogical to speculate given the lack of precedence for this scenario.”

 

Kirk nodded his head at the unconscious figures. “You mean because he’s human and he’s half-Vulcan?”

 

“That, among other variables, makes this situation unique.”

 

 

Kirk wondered what other variables he might be talking about. Because they were both men? Kirk was brought back to his question addressed to Spock as to the reception of homosexuality on Vulcan. Despite Kirk’s conclusion that it would be frowned upon do to its unreasoned nature, none of the Vulcans on the shuttle appeared to find the pairing odd or distasteful. If anything, they were treating them with a deep respect, if not reverence, despite the situation. Of course, it was always hard to tell with Vulcans. But Kirk had more pressing matters on his mind. “If we were looking at two Vulcans, what would you guess? Are they going to be okay?”

 

The Vulcan’s brow crinkled slightly, as if he was confused by the nature of the question. Spock never liked being told to guess either. “Although it is highly improbable that death would occur following the attempt at severance, it is still a possibility that either party may have sustained brain damage. We will not be able to gauge this until they are once again conscious.” He then turned to Spock’s mother. “Lady Amanda, my name is Serin. Given that you do not currently have a Vulcan adept in the healing arts residing with you, I offer my services.”

 

“My thanks.” Amanda responded simply, glancing up from Spock’s still face only briefly. They arrived at Spock’s home shortly thereafter and Amanda instructed them to be placed in the two bedded guest room that he and Bones had shared the night before. Kirk was glad that she didn’t have Spock put in his bedroom on the floor above because he hadn’t even seen that room, and he would have felt awkward waiting in there and more awkward not waiting in there.

 

The team filed out the door, and Kirk pulled up a chair for a long, long wait. Kirk could think of a whole slew of more productive things he could, and frankly should, be doing but couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate leaving the room. After a solid hour of waiting in silence, Kirk kicked up a conversation with Amanda about some of the more humorous situations they’d gotten into on the Enterprise.

 

Careful to keep the conversation light and avoid the countless life-or-death situations that they managed to get themselves ensnared in and the bits that were still technically classified, Kirk talked for hours about his ship. He spun the tale of the little girl Miri who’d managed to develop into a kind young woman on a planet of perpetual children. Then, he progressed into the time they took a shore leave on a planet with giant white rabbits, samurai, tigers, and old buddies appearing out of nowhere. He told her about the time that Sulu ran around the ship with a sword and Lieutenant Riley started singing folk songs over the intercom.

 

Amanda seemed to really enjoy this story. “Spock never tells me about his adventures.” She said with a small smile. “I worry about him and the sorts of trouble he might find up there, but I feel better knowing that he has friends like you.”

 

“Oh, he saves us about as often as we save him.” Kirk gave one of his charming grins. “Like there was this one time-” Kirk stopped and listened. There was definitely someone else moving around the house. Serin was still standing patiently by the door like a Beefeater, only his eyes kept drifting back to Bones’ form, seeming oddly interested in the doctor for some reason.

 

“That’s Sarek.” Amanda supplied, answering the unasked question. She stood and headed for the door. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

 

Serin seemed to stand even straighter after she left, stepping closer to Kirk. “Captain, if I may, your men appear to be most... honorable.”

 

Kirk couldn’t fathom what had brought on this sudden proclamation. “It’s true.” He responded slowly.

 

“Then, to borrow one of your human expressions, I shall wish you the best of luck. They may have alleviated one of the most prominent reservations Vulcans have about joining Starfleet.” Serin moved toward the door.

 

“You’re leaving?” Kirk blurted out, though his mind was still attempting to wrap itself around his previous comments. Vulcan application to Starfleet was extremely rare, despite targeted recruiting. He’d never realized there was something that they were doing that caused Vulcans to be disquieted. Something that they could fix.

 

“Ambassador Sarek is more than capable. Now that he has returned, my presence is superfluous.”

 

Well that was… logical. Kirk stood quickly and caught Serin before he left the room. “What reservation?”

 

Serin’s eyebrow rose. “I have said too much.”

 

Amanda suddenly returned with a tray of food, and Serin took the opportunity to leave before Kirk could get in any more questions. “I figured you’d prefer to eat in here.”

 

Kirk’s stomach growled and he finally remembered that he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. He took the tray of sadly replicated food. “You’re an angel.” He declared.

 

Kirk expected to meet Spock’s father when Amanda returned an hour later, from dinner he guessed, but the Vulcan did not make an appearance. It wasn’t until the middle of the night (which seemed abnormally long to the human) that Kirk even spotted him standing in the doorway looking in. Sarek waited a good ten minutes before guiding a half asleep Amanda from the room.

 

.o0o.

 


	4. Chapter 4

.o0o.

Part 4

.o0o.

 

Kirk waited anxiously at Spock’s house for the next three days, sleeping awkwardly on the chair or half on one of the beds. Sarek did not enter the room again, but he did seem to find numerous reasons to pass by the door. Kirk would have found it humorous if he hadn’t been so worried about his friends.

 

Late on the second day of his vigil, Spock awoke with a low moan. It was both horrifying and pitiful at the same time to see Spock in anything other than complete control of himself. “Spock!” Kirk greeted him warmly, trying to keep his voice low.

 

Spock stilled and opened his eyes. “Captain.” His voice was harsh, so Kirk fished around for a glass of water and helped him to drink it. “How long…?”

 

“Two days.” Kirk supplied before nodding toward the doctor. “Bones is still out.” Spock shifted to look over at the other bed and the still body. “How are you feeling?”

 

“I have suffered no permanent injury.” Spock shifted to a sitting position, resting heavily against the pillows.

 

Kirk took this to be Spock-speak for ‘I feel like shit, but I think I’ll survive.’ “Even up there?” Kirk continued, gesturing vaguely to his head.

 

“I shall meditate on it.”

 

The captain waited for several minutes after Spock had closed his eyes before deciding that Amanda would not forgive him for delaying so long in getting her and hurried out of the room. When he returned, Spock was again alert and nodded to his mother, who rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug. Kirk averted his eyes as they whispered to each other. Amanda plucked the plomeek soup off the heater resting on the bedside table that had been sitting waiting for hours and handed it off to Spock. Spock took the fussing without complaint and ate his soup with stoicism.

 

After roughly ten minutes, Spock seemed to tire and set his bowl aside. “I believe I shall recuperate fully from this attempt,” he stated concisely, resolving Kirk’s earlier question about his mental faculties.

 

Amanda must have used her motherly instincts to know that he was tired because she fluffed his pillows and fumbled with his blankets before taking away the dishes. “Don’t keep him up, Captain,” she said decisively, and Kirk got the feeling that she wouldn’t hesitate to enforce her command.

 

“Yes, ma’am!” He agreed cheekily.

 

Like a disobedient child dissatisfied with their bedtime, Spock immediately threw off his covers and stood. “Hey, wait. What are you doing?” Kirk grabbed onto Spock’s arm and steadied him as he shuffled over to the other bed and all but fell onto it.

 

“I intend to confirm the doctor’s well-being.”

 

“No offense, Spock, but you’re not really in any condition to look after yourself, not to mention Bones.” Kirk kindly didn’t point out what he felt was the illogic of the situation because he was beginning to doubt that there was any logic at all. If Spock settling in beside Bones and closing his eyes was anything to go by, he’d just given a flimsy excuse to join the doctor. Serin had said that the failed attempt at a severance would arouse a desire to be closer together and a sense of depression.

 

Spock didn’t respond and Kirk noted with a large dose of concern that he’d already fallen back asleep. Kirk rubbed his sore neck and settled in for another long night of waiting. Two hours later, he spread out on the empty bed and closed his eyes for a quick nap, which turned into a solid night of sleeping.

 

It was early afternoon when Bones finally decided to regain consciousness, turning and throwing up over the side of the bed. A suddenly awake Spock narrowly managed to dodge. When Bones dropped back onto the pillow with a boneless moan, Spock helped him drink some water and initiated a meld. Kirk marveled at the tenderness, then made himself useful by cleaning up the mess Bones had just made, all the while reminding himself that he was the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. He decided that it would be good blackmail sometime when Bones was feeling better.

 

Finally, Spock proclaimed that he could find no damage. “Although the attempt at severance was both painful and unsuccessful, T’Lar’s skill has spared us from any lasting effects. The nausea, disorientation and migraines should subside within the next day or two, at which point, Dr. McCoy should be well enough to return to the ship.” Spock himself already appeared to be well enough to return to duty, his movements as sure and steady as normal. Bones, on the other hand, was dead asleep in minutes.

 

Kirk secretly rejoiced because staying at Spock's house was weird, no matter how normal Amanda was. Plus, Starfleet was getting on his ass about how long he was taking at Vulcan. Sulu had redirected two messages to him already. He probably would have had more time if he'd gone through the proper channels, but he'd also have had more questions that he didn't want to answer, especially not for the record.

 

His communicator beeped. Speak of the devil. “Kirk here.”

 

“Captain, we’ve got our latest orders from Starfleet.” Kirk glanced at Spock sitting on the bed and watching Bones, but he was fairly certain that his First Officer would be following their conversation closely.

 

“What’ve we got?”

 

“They want us to go after the Pioneer. We are to leave immediately, whether we have finished our delivery or not. They lost contact with them near-”

 

“Damn near Klingon territory. I read the report.” Kirk cut him off, rubbing his forehead where a headache was forming. “That was reassigned to the Farragut four days ago.” With much pleading and begging involved to boot.

 

“Apparently, the Farragut had a serious internal malfunction and had to go in for repairs.” Kirk must have paused long enough for Sulu to catch a whiff of his indecision. “Sir, if you need us to buy you more time, we might have had a minor malfunction ourselves.”

 

Kirk looked back to Spock, only to find that he’d left the bed and was talking quietly with his mother by the door. Amanda handed off a small, wrapped package which he took and slipped into the satchel over his shoulder. He looked prepared to leave. “No, we’ll be back shortly. Get ready to warp out as soon as we’re on board.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

Flipping the communicator shut, Kirk let loose a long sigh. All this hubbub, all this mess, all this pain, and they hadn’t even managed to accomplish what they’d come to Vulcan to do. “I hate to wake him.” Kirk said as Spock approached.

 

“Then let’s not.” Spock picked up the doctor and cradled him to his chest, raising an eyebrow at Kirk’s stare, and carried him out into the open where they were beamed up. Kirk was so glad that Bones was dead asleep while they made their way to Sickbay or he'd have both Kirk and Spock on his list of people to kill for treating him like an invalid. From the looks Spock was giving off, though, he had reason to hope that it might never get back to the doctor.

 

.o0o.

 


	5. Chapter 5

.o0o.

Part 5

.o0o.

 

Thirty-six hours after they’d departed from Vulcan, Scotty had finally completed the task Kirk had given him the first night on Vulcan: personally check every system on the Enterprise. It was easy but dreadfully time consuming work, and Scotty might have thought he was being punished if he hadn’t been reasonably sure that he hadn’t done anything wrong… recently. Kirk would make sure he knew he was being punished anyway and not give him something as possibly entertaining as this assignment.

 

So Scotty had concluded that his captain as looking for something. He also concluded that he hadn’t found it, whatever ‘it’ was. All the problems he encountered were the run of the mill sort, broken heating units, burnt out lighting fixtures, fried circuitry, sticky doors, etc. It was the sort of stuff that he could thankfully delegate to his subordinates. It was _not_ the sort of problem that a captain has his Chief Engineer sweep the entire ship for.

 

He knew Kirk well enough not to bother with pesky wherefores, but Scotty was certainly going to relish turning in his report. Of course, the captain was not on the bridge when he got there, nor was his First Officer. Since there was nothing wrong with the ship, Scotty decided that he was probably in Sickbay with a patient.

 

His deduction was proven correct when the cantankerous voice of Dr. McCoy greeted him immediately upon entry. “Dammit, Jim, I’m perfectly fine! Ask M’Benga if you don’t believe me.”

 

Scotty rounded the corner in time to hear Kirk’s response. “Then you want to tell me why you were out cold for two days longer than Spock?” Kirk pointed at the Vulcan who was standing disinterestedly on the opposite side of the biobed McCoy was trying to get out of.

 

“Physically, he’s fit for duty, Captain.” M’Benga completed the circle at the foot of the bed, but he stood like he’d take any excuse to get out of the conversation when both McCoy and Kirk looked his way. Scotty could hardly blame him.

 

“Stupid Vulcan physiology. Resistance to mind magic due to overexposure.” McCoy grunted as he pulled on his blue uniform shirt over his black undershirt. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m feeling fine now. Even Spock said I’m fine.”

 

“I did not-”

 

McCoy cut off Spock’s protests. “And you let him work.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder. “So, really, this is pointless.”

 

“Fine.” Kirk sighed, but quickly halted the doctor’s victory. “Half-days until I say otherwise. And you take the rest of the day off.”

 

“But-”

 

“That’s perfect, laddie.” Scotty joined in, “I’ve got the rest of the day off myself, and you still owe me a drink.” Technically, he said he’d owed the doctor a drink since he was the one who got called away last time. From the grateful looks both McCoy and Kirk were giving him though, he was pretty sure no one cared.

 

“That’s one offer I can’t refuse.” McCoy responded, conceding defeat.

 

“Got that report for you, Captain.”

 

Kirk nodded and took the PADD from Scotty’s grip, scanning as he asked, “Anything unusual?”

 

“Not a thing.” Scotty declared. “She’s running better than the day we got her.” Scotty let the warmth show in his tone. The captain was the only other person on the ship who could appreciate the adoration he felt for the Enterprise.

 

“Good.” Kirk’s tone was more contemplative than relieved. He turned to M’Benga. “Did you get through the physicals?”

 

M’Benga glanced at McCoy as if he was afraid of stepping on the other man’s figurative toes. McCoy seemed more interested than offended, stopping halfway through putting on his boots. “If you want to call having every member of the crew lie on a biobed a physical, then sure. I did do a complete physical on everyone who joined within the last year, as you requested.”

 

“And?”

 

“Nothing unusual.” M’Benga replied. “Ensign Hughes seems to be having some stress related problems such as teeth grinding and high blood pressure. I’m not sure he’s completely adapted to living on a ship. All due respect, Captain, but I feel like I could help you more if you told me what you were looking for.”

 

Kirk waved him off, “You’d know it if you saw it. Send me a report.”

 

“Yes, sir.” M’Benga turned smartly and used this opportunity to escape.

 

“Well, that’s a relief.” McCoy stated.

 

Spock nodded. “It does not, however, resolve any questions regarding the note that Captain Kirk received.”

 

“Note?”

 

Kirk strolled past Scotty, slapping a hand on his shoulder as he went. “Klingons, my friend.” He looked back to Spock, who was still standing beside the biobed. “Coming?”

 

“I shall return to the bridge momentarily.” Kirk furrowed a brow, but left without asking further.

 

“Something the matter?” McCoy prompted.

 

If Scotty hadn’t known better, he might have guessed that Spock not only hesitated, but seemed slightly embarrassed to speak. But Scotty was fairly sure Vulcans didn’t do that. “As I will be returning to my duties, I must insist that you abstain from becoming inebriated.” Well, that was an odd request.

 

McCoy and Spock seemed to be duking it out with their eyes or something; Scotty couldn’t say what. Scotty shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering why he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there before McCoy turned abruptly and swept his arm out towards the door. “Shall we?”

 

Scotty nodded and followed the doctor out. He gave the doctor a once over and decided that the captain was probably right in keeping him off duty for a while, not that he had any intention of telling McCoy that. He also looked like he needed a good rant and Scotty was more than willing to be a listening ear. “Pleasant trip on Vulcan?”

 

McCoy snorted. “Oh, yeah. I met Spock’s mom. Really nice lady. Shame Spock doesn’t take after her more.” Scotty glanced behind them to make sure Spock wasn’t in hearing range. “Enjoyed the sunlight. Got some exercise. Caught up on my sleep, too.”

 

Scotty played along, “Well, that’s nothing. Captain let me spend the last couple days going over the entire ship with a fine-tooth comb. If this ship so much as had a flea, I’d know about it now.”

 

McCoy invited him into his quarters and pulled out a bottle of what Scotty liked to refer to as ‘the good stuff.’ Scotty liked to think that it was the doctor’s fine taste in beers that helped make them such good friends. He poured just one glass, though, and set it in front of the Scotsman.

 

Scotty took a draft and set the glass back down, feeling the burn trace down his throat. Definitely the good stuff. McCoy, though, got himself a mug of coffee and sat down. Scotty let the silence reign. He could tell that something was on the doctor’s mind and had learned from hard experience that the more you pushed, the less likely he was going to talk.

 

Sure enough, McCoy thumped down his coffee, leaned back in his chair and grumbled. “You know what I don’t understand? How did Sagumpta manage to get Brigley into the vent without anyone noticing?”

 

Scotty was a bit surprised by the choice of conversation. He was also surprised that McCoy was asking such a question. It wasn’t like him to forget explanations Scotty had already given. “It’s not exactly the busiest part of the ship.”

 

“No, I mean, Sagumpta is… was barely five feet and stick thin. And Brigley was kind of a big guy. How did she carry him?”

 

“Well,” Scotty started after he finished off his cup. “I suppose she could have used anti-gravity units. Of course, those would be a bit harder to get ahold of without anyone noticing. I can check the records for you, though, if you like.”

 

“Yeah, why not?” McCoy frowned. “The only other thing I could think of was an accomplice of some sort, but that doesn’t make sense, either. Why would anyone else help her hide a body? That would mean they were involved in the murder.”

 

“And that would mean that it wasn’t a matter of Sagumpta going crazy, and we’d have another murderer on board the ship.” Scotty filled in. That was a terrifying thought. “I’ll check the records.”

 

McCoy nodded his thanks. A moment passed by as they thought about Brigley before McCoy’s eyes slid over to Scotty’s cup longingly. “You know, we could save this fine drink for another time.” Scotty suggested.

 

McCoy gave a rueful smile. “Actually, I was gonna ask you to take it with you. It’s the least I could do for him.”

 

Pouring another drink, Scotty decided that he really wouldn’t mind taking the bottle with him. “Spock never minded you drinking before.”

 

“We were never married before.”

 

Scotty sputtered, losing most of the mouthful over the table. McCoy smirked and tossed him a towel. Scotty coughed a few times and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I thought you said married. As in, you know, married.”

 

“I did. Best you hear it from me, anyway. Jim will probably make up some crock about us falling madly in love or some other horror.” McCoy’s tone was calm and even, so Scotty figured they’d have to have been hitched for some time now. Sure, McCoy had basically confirmed some sort of relationship, but marriage had never crossed the Engineer’s mind.

 

“And what’s the real story?”

 

“The real story? We did it so he could save my life.” McCoy didn’t meet the other man’s gaze and from the slight reddening of his collar, Scotty guessed he felt ashamed. “He sacrificed himself to save me, and what have I done in return? Complain.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’m an asshole.”

 

Scotty thought this conversation might be a whole lot easier if the doctor actually took the time to explain in detail what was going on, but Scotty wasn’t about to push him. “Come on, then. ‘Sacrifice’ is a bit harsh there, don’t you think?”

 

“No, I think it’s pretty apt.” McCoy scowled at the wall. “It’s complicated, but suffice to say that I’m a complete and utter asshole.”

 

Scotty tried a different approach. “Well, if you really feel that way, maybe you should apologize.”

 

McCoy shook his head. “He’d just say that it’s illogical.”

 

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

 

.o0o.


	6. Chapter 6

.o0o.

Part 6

.o0o.

 

The first thing Spock had done upon waking to find the link still intact was calculate out how much time he had. He estimated that he had two months and thirteen days before the symptoms became problematic, which gave him 74 days. However, because he would likely be on eight hour shifts, coupled with an eight hour sleep cycle that he dared not deprive the doctor of, he would have only 592 hours to complete his task, assuming he continued to schedule himself for complementary shifts.

 

His task? To court Dr. McCoy. It was, after all, the most logical solution to the given circumstances. Spock was, of course, primarily concerned with his fast approaching pon farr, but entering into a relationship with the doctor would also be beneficial by ending the prospect of extramarital affairs, which were highly frowned upon on Vulcan. Given the nature of the marital link, illicit relationships were also extremely difficult to conduct. Spock imagined it would be similar to a person with Dissociative Identity Disorder attempting to pursue two or more relationships at the same time. While the desire was understandable, the implementation was challenging.

 

Because he was a Vulcan, he considered his emotional response to the situation entirely irrelevant, but recognized logically that he had been most fortunate. McCoy was second on a very short list of people he might have preferred take T’Pring’s place as his spouse had the marital link been broken for another reason, though in all likelihood, his parents would have selected another female Vulcan. And though he was not prepared to vocalize the sentiment, McCoy only fell after Kirk on that list because of Kirk’s relative openness to telepathic encounters.

 

“Incoming message from Starfleet.” Uhura announced from Spock’s left, stirring him from his contemplation.

 

Spock shook his head slightly, aware of his presence on the bridge. It was illogical to dwell on what-ifs. It was the doctor he was irreversibly linked to and the doctor that he would have to persuade. He had read up on the topic of human courtship while McCoy was unconscious in Sickbay, but he’d found it to be one of the least logical and most unpredictable endeavors humans attempted. He would need help.

 

“What is it?” Kirk prompted from his chair.

 

Shifting in his seat, Spock subtly surveyed the bridge while he listened to the report. Kirk would be his normal first choice. He would either explain in a stilted speech that only occasionally answered more questions than it raised, or would refer him to Dr. McCoy who was rarely more eloquent but usually more helpful. However, neither of these choices was viable. McCoy for obvious reasons. And the captain’s relationships never seemed to last more than a few days. Kirk also seemed to rely heavily on physical stimulation, which Spock was very sure the doctor would not appreciate.

 

“Standard message sent to all ships. The Lexington has located the U.S.S. Defender.” Uhura lifted her head. “It’s been completely destroyed. No survivors found as yet.” Spock had heard that the Defender had gone out of contact exactly 36.8 days prior.

 

Kirk nodded stiffly. “Cause?”

 

“Still undetermined.” A destroyed constellation class starship would unsettle the crew, particularly those with contacts aboard the other ship. Spock estimated an eight point three percent increase in psychological related Sickbay visits and a three point six percent decrease in overall shipwide efficiency. He looked to his captain to see if this news would cause him to change any orders, but Kirk only instructed Uhura to confirm receipt.

 

With some reticence, Spock examined his other options for assistance with his own problem. The only other people who remained that were adequately informed of the situation were Chekov, Scotty, Uhura and Sulu, all of whom could be trusted to remain discreet and none of whom seemed particularly more suited to the cause than the others. Scotty was McCoy’s ‘drinking buddy’, but Spock was unsure if that would work in his favor or against him. Scotty would likely do what he felt was best for the doctor, which Spock was fairly sure did not include entering into a relationship with a Vulcan.

 

When his shift ended a few minutes later, Spock had not yet arrived at a logical conclusion. Opportunity presented itself when he entered the turbolift and Uhura slid in next to him. His mother might have called it a sign. Spock had heard that Uhura was both confident and comfortable in “affairs of the heart” as she put it. She was also exceedingly good at separating her professional and personal life. Her penchant for ship-wide awareness might also come in handy. The lift stopped.

 

“Would you care to accompany me to the Officers’ Lounge for dinner?”

 

Uhura didn’t appear surprised by his request, almost as if she’d been waiting for it. “I would like that.” She smiled warmly up at him.

 

Soon, Spock found himself tucked away in a quiet corner of the lounge with a dinner he had no appetite for with the ship’s best communications officer. Finding his desire to put off the conversation as long as possible highly illogical, Spock pushed ahead and summarized his predicament. He could not tell Uhura of his pon farr, though, which made his explanation less thorough and consequently less helpful.

 

Uhura didn’t seem to mind. “So, you’re stuck with him, and you want to explore if a romantic relationship is possible because that would make everything easier.”

 

“Essentially, yes.” Spock began to suspect he was missing something as Uhura played with her food instead of responding right away. Spock wasn’t sure what it might be as the doctor’s behavior had been as late even more erratic than usual. On the one hand, McCoy had not reacted well upon finding out that the link was permanent. It had been to the point that Spock had briefly doubted the feasibility of coaxing McCoy into a relationship. For one disheartening moment, he’d been sure that the doctor would leave the Enterprise and hide away on Earth, unknowingly sentencing him to a painful death. And on the other hand, McCoy had abided by his request not to drink without question. Spock wasn’t really sure how the alcohol might affect him, or if it even would, but he was not prepared to find out while on duty on the bridge.

 

“While you two have a close relationship, you might alienate him by attempting to take it in that direction. He's explicitly stated that he isn't interested in men.”

 

“I was unaware.” Spock had never had the desire or need to ask, and McCoy’s largely asexual lifestyle had provided no clues. Although he’d seen him behave flirtatiously around several women, most notably Yeoman Barrows, he had also seen the doctor flirt with a few men, including Captain Kirk. The logical conclusion to draw had been that he fit in the bisexual leaning towards heterosexual section of the spectrum where most humans seemed to reside. Of course, like so much about McCoy, logic did not appear to apply.

 

Uhura fiddled with her food some more. Spock could tell the conversation had made her somewhat uncomfortable, though she did not attempt to end it. “Yeah, it was on the Excalibur. Right before you came back from Engineering.”

 

Spock could admit to some curiosity as to what had brought up that particular point of conversation, but the reports concerning that trip were unduly vague. He did recall that there was a touch of desperation in McCoy’s plea for him to return to the bridge of the Excalibur. Perhaps he’d been lying, for whatever reason. Spock chose to disregard this evidence in favor of his own experience concerning links. “I have reason to believe that the doctor might not be as opposed to a relationship with another man as he’s previously stated.”

 

“Are you sure about this?” Uhura asked, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’d really hate for this to end badly.”

 

Spock simply nodded because he could not inform her of the worse end that would be in store if he didn’t try. “However, I am uncertain how to proceed. Any advice you might be able to provide would be greatly appreciated.”

 

“Generally, my advice is to just tell him how you feel.” Something in Spock’s face must have dissuaded her from continuing down this train of thought because she quickly continued, “But you could try something more subtle. Spend time with him without contradicting everything he says, even if it’s illogical. You know, compromise. A relationship is all about compromising. The doctor might also appreciate some romantic gestures. He’s a big softie for that kind of stuff.” Uhura spoke with the authority of someone who knows their topic.

 

“Please clarify.”

 

“Well, you could try getting him a present, something you know he likes. And show him that you have common interests. Show him what you think is good about him, what you think makes him special.” Uhura seemed to be warming up to the topic. “And you’ve got to go out of your way for him. You’ve got to do something for the express purpose of helping him out or making him happy.”

 

“I see.” Spock intended to follow each of these instructions as closely as possible. Already he could think of a present wrapped in a compromise to ease the process. He needed to act quickly to make the greatest progress as swiftly as he could. He would have to tell the doctor of his Blood Fever before pon farr hit, but he would prefer to be much further along in the courtship.

 

“Let me know if I can be of any more help.” Uhura picked up her stuff and left Spock to his thoughts.

 

.o0o.

 


	7. Chapter 7

.o0o.

Part 7

.o0o.

 

“If you’re here on Jim’s account, I worked the second half of my shift today.” McCoy was just about to grumble about Jim’s stupid half-days and his stupid habit of sending Vulcans to check up on him when Spock responded with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I am not.” Of course, now that he thought about it, Jim would probably check in on him himself. “I came to see if you would like to join me for dinner.”

 

“Sure.” McCoy agreed without hesitation. It would be a good opportunity for the doctor to apologize properly. “Your quarters?”

 

Spock nodded and McCoy wondered why this request felt different than any of the other times Spock had invited him over in the last month. “18:30 hours.”

 

McCoy glanced at the chronometer as the Vulcan left. That would give him almost an hour, assuming he left his shift on time. Considering that Spock would know if he didn’t and undoubtedly report it to their captain, McCoy decided to go ahead and get out of his office. Things had been quiet on the ship lately and there wasn’t much of a point to stay longer.

 

Wandering down to Engineering with the gait of a man with time to kill, McCoy found Scotty working on a replicator. “Thought you said everything was fixed.” He commented.

 

Scotty looked up. “Sure did. Just programming in some new options while I’ve got the downtime. Any suggestions?”

 

Inspiration struck. “Vulcan tea?”

 

Scotty seemed to find this incredibly amusing but had the good sense not to mention it, even as he chuckled to himself. “Now that’s one I’ll have to look up.” Scotty fiddled around on his PADD for a few minutes before flipping it around to show McCoy. “There’s over ten thousand kinds listed here. Vulcans sure love their tea.”

 

“And you can bet there are at least a hundred secret recipes that they don’t share with Starfleet.” McCoy leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’m sure the one Spock’s mom made was more common. Tasted like a cross between a mango, honey and grapefruit.”

 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, laddie.”

 

McCoy frowned. He could always ask Spock, but that would ruin the surprise. “I think the plant was called a pylee’in,” McCoy tried, stumbling over the pronunciation. It took almost twenty minutes, but they managed to identify the fruit and narrow the list of teas down to twelve. “I hadn’t realized there would be so many.”

 

“Oh, that’s not too bad.” Scotty stated.

 

“Too many to store.”

 

Scotty was already plugging in numbers. “Well, we don’t have to store all of them to taste all of them.” McCoy was just opening his mouth to protest when Scotty stalled him with a hand. “I’ve gotta give you something to apologize with.”

 

Fifteen minutes later found the two of them surrounded by mostly filled cups of lukewarm tea. “Yup, this is definitely it.” McCoy confirmed, taking another drink from a bright red mug.

 

Taking another sip from his own drink, Scotty nodded. “Not bad. I’ll add it to our collection.”

 

“I’ll let you get back to work.” McCoy collected two mugs onto a tray and stood. “By the way, did you get a chance to look at the anti-gravity registry?”

 

“Aye.” Scotty responded, not looking up from his work. “No one listed for that day.”

 

“Is there anyone who could override that? Take out a couple units and reprogram it so no one notices?” And moreover, McCoy asked himself, what were the chances that one of his nurses could fall on such a list?

 

“Well, sure.” Scotty scratched the back of his head idly. “Me, for one. Spock could do it easily and of course Captain Kirk. Chekov could probably pull it off, too. Other than that, there’s just the techies who work there.”

 

“You mind if I talk to them?”

 

“Go for it.”

 

“Thanks.” McCoy grunted as he left. Perhaps Sagumpta had managed to con one of the techies into helping her. Or maybe she really did have an accomplice. The more he thought about it, the more likely that option seemed to be. Particularly given the results of the brain scan, it seemed more and more outrageous to him that Sagumpta could have killed Brigley on her own. Someone on this ship knew something and they weren’t sharing.

 

As he closed in on Spock’s room, McCoy began to feel strangely nervous, which didn’t make sense to him because he’d been in Spock’s quarters almost as much as he’d been in his own over the last few weeks. He wondered if the tea he’d selected was the kind Amanda only shared with human guests because it didn’t appeal to Vulcan tastes. That would be some thank you gift.

 

Spock let him in almost immediately when he buzzed and took the tray of tea from him. He didn’t comment that McCoy was late, but moved aside to let him in. He noticed that Spock had gone out of his way to acquire a meal he would like, both healthful and including meat. McCoy felt less weird about going through the effort of finding the same Vulcan tea Spock’s mother had made.

 

“I, uh, wanted to apologize.” McCoy started off, sitting down to his salad. “I haven’t exactly been friendly with you lately, and I realize that none of this is your fault. I was blaming you when really I should have been thanking you. So…. Thank you.” And McCoy meant it. All this time he’d been so preoccupied with his lack of privacy, he’d forgotten that Spock was just as exposed.

 

Spock paused a beat and McCoy braced himself for a lecture on how his choice was the logical one to make that would be sweet if only there was any emotion behind it. Instead, Spock simply responded, “You’re welcome.”

 

Awkward silence ensued and McCoy couldn’t help but wish that Spock had disagreed with him as he normally did so that he would have something to talk about. Or yell about. Sitting munching on his salad with chunks of chicken, he couldn’t help but feel out of place and confused. The fact of the matter was that he _liked_ arguing with Spock. It was how their relationship worked. He would say something, and Spock would contradict him. Then, they could bicker until every point had been raised, and although they almost never ended up agreeing, McCoy felt like he came away with a clearer mind and a better understanding of the situation.

 

And if he had to pick things he liked about being linked to the Vulcan, knowing how Spock was feeling would be at the top of the list. Arguing with Spock had become so much more entertaining since he could tell when he was getting under his skin. And for all the impeccable control Spock had over his facial muscles, McCoy now knew for certain that he did get under his skin. Frequently. So much so that on occasion, he could feel a twinge of hurt bouncing off of Spock in reflection to his own callous words. In turn, he began to steer clear of certain topics and choose his words more carefully.

 

McCoy cleared his throat. Spock was evidently attempting to be more civil to him and it wouldn’t do to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I was talking to Scotty about how Sagumpta may have gotten Brigley’s body in the vent, and we discussed the possibility of someone breaking into the anti-gravity units and reprogramming them afterwards.”

 

“It is extremely unlikely that someone with Sagumpta’s qualifications and experience would be capable of such a task.”

 

“Right.” McCoy agreed, “So I was kind of thinking she was working with someone. And if so, maybe we could narrow it down by who had the know-how to reprogram the registry. Heck, if they know enough about the system to reprogram that, maybe they could have reprogrammed Jim’s door and stuck that note in his quarters, too.”

 

“Doctor, we cannot assume that the two incidents are related. If Nurse Sagumpta was, in fact, working with someone else, as the evidence suggests, it would have been much more feasible for the two of them to manually place the body in the vent.” McCoy deflated slightly. That would make more sense. “In any case, we should explore the idea of an accomplice with the captain.”

 

“Yeah, I just, ah, was waiting until I got something a little more to go on. I don’t want Jim to think I was getting obsessed or something.” A suspect would have been something nice to present, but Spock had just demolished his logic with better logic, and now the suspect pool was back to the entire ship. At least they could look for alibis at the right time now.

 

“I do not believe that will be an issue.” Spock stood and cleared the table, then gallantly offered, “I shall inform him of your suspicions if you prefer.”

 

“No, that’s all right. I’ll talk to him.”

 

McCoy watched as Spock fetched a leathery looking satchel and retrieved a small box from inside. “My mother asked that I give you this.”

 

Taking the box from Spock’s outstretched hand, McCoy shook it slightly from side to side, hearing a light thunk. He wasn’t sure what the proper Vulcan custom was concerning presents (though he was fairly sure the shaking was a purely human thing) so he set it aside to open when Spock wasn’t staring at him. “Thanks.”

 

“Do you desire to continue your mental defense training?”

 

It wasn’t really non-sequitur because McCoy had been thinking about it and so, apparently, had Spock. McCoy nodded, and they assumed their normal positions. As was customary, Spock waited for McCoy to show some sign of readiness before initiating a meld. However, Spock pulled away again before the doctor could even attempt to find him.

 

McCoy opened his eyes to a set of slightly furrowed eyebrows, and a feeling of anger that was not his own. “Captain Kirk kissed you.” Spock stated.

 

“Well, yes. What does it matter? He wasn’t himself.”

 

“He’s kissed you before.” Spock pointed out, left eyebrow creeping up.

 

McCoy felt like he was being accused of something, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what. “Yes?”

 

Spock stood abruptly and collected the package from the table and handing it to McCoy, making his desire for the doctor to leave clear without words. McCoy opened his mouth to protest or defend himself, but he couldn’t figure out why he should. There was nothing going on between Jim and him, just like there was nothing going on between Spock and him. Spock had to know the circumstances as well, so there wasn’t really anything he could say anyway. Shrugging, he excused himself and returned to his own quarters.

 

It was only when he was seated on the bed and unwrapping the small box that he recognized what he’d done. He’d made Spock angry. He’d made _Spock_ angry. He’d always wanted to do that, but somehow it just wasn’t as enjoyable as he’d expected.

 

Shaking his head, McCoy plucked the data disk out of the box and slipped it into his computer. Immediately, Amanda’s voice and picture came on. Amanda had decided to inform him that she thought he was a good man and that she hoped he’d find a way to make Spock happy. McCoy smiled at the human sentiment. Then her expression grew more serious.

 

“There are things you need to know about your situation, Doctor, that I’m afraid Spock might keep hidden for the sake of his pride. The rest of the material on this tape is highly sensitive to the Vulcans, so I trust you’ll be careful with it. Good luck.”

 

Amanda faded from the screen and her image was replaced with a long series of Vulcan text overlaid with a voice speaking in Vulcan. None of which McCoy could understand so he paused the disk and went to search for his universal translator. After ransacking his room, McCoy remembered that he’d left the device in his office. It wasn’t until a half hour later that he actually sat down in front of the screen again. A mechanized voice only had time to say the words “pon farr” before his comm went off.

 

“McCoy.” He answered, hiding the disk in his personal things.

 

“Bones, I think you might want to get up here.”

 

.o0o.


	8. Chapter 8

.o0o.

Part 8

.o0o.

 

Good things about the lack of activity on the ship: There was finally time to get things repaired and/or upgraded. Far fewer injuries. The backlog of science experiments generally dwindled down to a mere dozen. Status reports were a quick read. The Enterprise was in pique condition.

 

Bad things about the lack of activity on the ship: Boredom. Kirk was so bored that he almost wished he had more paperwork to finish. And on days like this, Kirk was never really sure what to put into his captain’s log. Dare he admit that he had nothing better to do and let Starfleet come up with new regs to keep captains busier?

 

Handing control over to Sulu, Kirk left his shift early. Granted, he wasn’t really sure it could be called early when he almost always worked at least a shift and a half. Of course, that was the way things went on his ship. His crew was there because they loved their work. Even Bones, despite his protests that the crew needed both a full sleep cycle and some time off for recreation every day, pulled doubles with alarming frequency. He’d even been known to stay on for three shifts or more in cases of emergency. Bones always seemed to get away with it, too, possibly because of the relaxed atmosphere he seemed to exude.

 

Sighing, Kirk decided to check in on the doctor and make sure he wasn’t still working. Kirk met Chapel near the door of Sickbay. She scanned him once, checking for injuries, then said, “He already left.”

 

“Of his own volition?”

 

Chapel smiled. “No, Spock came in to get him.”

 

Kirk almost let out a whine, but captains didn’t do that. Fetching Bones was _his_ job. Of course, they probably had a lot to discuss, but that meant his other prime target for relieving boredom was also busy. “Thanks.” He responded curtly and headed toward the labs. He’d asked for his note to be analyzed and hopefully come up with more clues. They’d said it would take several hours without top priority, but perhaps they’d been as bored as he was.

 

As it turned out, the technician had come up with some conclusions about the note. “It is, without a doubt, your handwriting, Captain.”

 

Kirk had already been pretty sure about that, but still wanted to check for a possibly masterful forgery. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The tech brought up a larger image of the note and began to point out specific loops and whirls as if it had some greater meaning. “Now, handwriting analysis is not an exact science, so there’s room for some error here, but a few things seem pretty clear. I’m seeing signs of a great deal of stress in the cramped style, probably to the point of desperation. The ‘k’ here at the beginning was started several times which usually is indicative of someone thinking about what to write, which is kind of odd with the slope of the writing generally seen in very confident individuals.”

 

Okay, so not particularly helpful information. “I don’t suppose you have something a little more useful?” Kirk asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt. There simply weren’t enough clues to solve this mystery.

 

“Sorry sir. We found nothing abnormal in the paper or the ink used, either. Standard Starfleet issue.”

 

Kirk nodded. “All right, carry on, then.”

 

Kirk was so lost in thought on the way back to his quarters that he nearly bumped into Spock, who was waiting outside his door in a manner that looked like he wasn’t waiting at all. It was a look that only Spock could pull off effectively. “Captain.” Spock greeted stoically.

 

“Spock.” Kirk responded as he opened the door and waved the Vulcan inside. The door snicked shut. “What can I do you for?”

 

“I wish to inquire as to your romantic intentions concerning Dr. McCoy.”

 

“Romantic inten- I don’t have any.” Kirk pivoted around and looked Spock in the eye. The blank expression and tone gave away nothing, but the stiffer than usual stance told Kirk that the Vulcan actually cared about his response. “Why do you ask?”

 

“He is my mate.” Spock gave in a non-answer. Kirk was rather glad that Bones wasn’t around because he was pretty sure the doctor would not appreciate being called that.

 

Kirk decided that he’d have to play this carefully if he wanted to get any answers. He offered his First Officer a game of chess, acting as if he’d given up on the topic, and sat down to think while he set up the board. They often played in silence as they both… okay, mostly just Kirk, thought about the best move.

 

If Spock had been human, he would have thought the question was one born of jealousy. But if not for jealousy, why would Spock care? He could see it as a possible cultural taboo, but then wouldn’t Spock have just asked Bones? But if that were the case, why ask at all? With the link, he had to know that there was nothing going on between him and Bones. So, Spock had wanted to know how Kirk felt about it, and not so much what was actually happening.

 

“Captain, you appear preoccupied. Perhaps we should continue this game at another time.”

 

Kirk looked down at the board to realize he was, in fact, losing very quickly. “Uh, no. Actually, I wanted to ask you…” Kirk paused. What did he want to ask Spock? Somehow, he didn’t think Spock would appreciate ‘why do you _really_ ask?’ “What are _your_ romantic intentions concerning Dr. McCoy?”

 

Both of Spock’s eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to respond with what Kirk was sure would be another non-answer, perhaps even the same one, when the comm went off. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

 

“Kirk here. Go ahead, Uhura.”

 

“Captain, I’m picking up a distress signal broadcasting in Standard, Klingon and Romulan.” Well, that was a bit abnormal. Perhaps one of the neutral species in the area? “But the signal is pretty weak. I’d say the source is about to run out of power. We were just barely in range.”

 

“An old buoy, then?” Kirk pondered aloud.

 

Spock joined him by the comm. “Or a ship that was recently badly damaged.”

 

Kirk nodded. “How far out of our way?”

 

“We can get there in twenty minutes, Captain.” Sulu chimed in.

 

“Do it. I’m on my way.” Turning to Spock, he nodded at the door. “Shall we?”

 

Kirk eyeballed Spock as they walked down the corridors together. He certainly wouldn’t get any answers out of the Vulcan here, but he was beginning to doubt he’d get answers at all. Spock wasn’t just being evasive in the way he was when he wanted to keep secrets; he was behaving as if he wasn’t entirely sure of his own actions. There’d been more hesitance in him when they’d been talking than the detached manner in which he rebuffed the captain while trying to keep the link secret. If he was reading him correctly, and Kirk was fairly sure he was, Spock was struggling with something emotionally. Kirk was going to have to keep a close watch on him.

 

“Any more information?” He asked as he strode onto the bridge.

 

“Not yet.” Sulu admitted, quickly shifting out of the captain’s chair.

 

Kirk swung it around and sat down, staring at the viewscreen as if it would tell him something. If this ship were sending off a distress signal, he’d most likely need a medical team over there. He wasn’t sure if he should call M’Benga or Bones, though, since Bones was still supposed to be taking it easy. Of course, the rumor mill would start talking if he didn’t call Bones, which would then undermine the crew’s faith in their Chief Medical Officer. Plus, he really just wanted his friend up here. He leaned over to the comm on his chair, “Bones, I think you might want to get up here.”

 

Spock was already at his station, monitoring the area for any clues. Therefore, it was the Vulcan who was the first to make the observation, “We are approaching a Klingon attack ship.”

 

“Red alert.” Kirk stated immediately. “That’s the ship sending the distress signal?”

 

“Yes, Captain. They do appear to be in dire need of assistance. They’ve suffered severe damage. Both weapons and shields are offline.” Spock responded as Bones made his appearance on the bridge, coming to stand beside the captain.

 

“It could still be a trap.” Kirk noted aloud. “Any other ships in the area?”

 

“None, sir.”

 

“Hailing frequencies open.” Uhura nodded and Kirk stood, straightening his shirt. “Klingon vessel, this is Captain James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. Identify yourself.”

 

A Klingon appeared on the screen, sitting straight and stiff in his chair despite his own head wound and the flurry of activity and smoke behind him. “My name is Kritrok of the House of Vok. There is not much time. Aid me or leave.”

 

Kirk had always wondered how a Klingon would ask for help. “You’re in Federation Space. I could have had you destroyed.” Kirk caught Bones’ eye, who gestured toward the door before leaving. He wanted to prep Sickbay for Klingons.

 

“Even the Federation has more honor than to destroy enemies who cannot fight back.” Kirk bristled at the comment but recognized that it was the closest a human might get to a compliment from a Klingon. This whole situation struck him as odd. Wouldn’t a Klingon rather die with his ship than accept help from Starfleet? And why were they so far into Federation Space?

 

Spock cut in before he could say anything, “Captain, I’m detecting a pressure build-up in the lower decks of the Klingon ship. It is substantial enough to destroy the entire ship.”

 

“How much time?”

 

“I would estimate eight point five six minutes.”

 

Kirk turned back to the viewscreen. The Klingon’s expression had not changed, so he assumed he already knew. “Have your men disarm, and we will beam you over.”

 

“We will not enter your ship unarmed.” Kritrok argued, but Kirk’s gut told him it was more of a show than anything.

 

Kirk stared the Klingon in the eye. “Die with your weapons or live without them.”

 

Seconds ticked by and for a moment, Kirk was afraid the Klingon would rather die. Finally, he stood, leaning heavily on one leg, but straightening his back proudly, and tossed his sidearm to the ground. “I agree to your terms.” Kritrok then shouted some orders in Klingon.

 

Satisfied, Kirk nodded to Spock. “Begin beaming them over and get a med team to the transporter room immediately. Once the ship is cleared, get us out of here before we find out this was all an ambush. I’m going to go check on our guests.”

 

Kirk didn’t wait for Spock to respond. He called a security team to the transporter room and another to guard Sickbay and then hurried from the room. He was halfway there when the ship rocked, so he ran over to an intercom and checked in with the bridge. “What happened?”

 

“The Klingon vessel has exploded.” Spock stated calmly. “We were mid-transport and thus did not have our shields raised.”

 

“Damage?”

 

There was a slight pause and Kirk imagined Spock was personally checking. “Superficial.”

 

“How many Klingons did we get?”

 

“Fifteen.” Kirk closed his eyes briefly. Enemies or not, he did not want people to die unnecessarily. There had to have been at least three hundred people on that ship to start out with. As if sensing his train of thought, Spock offered, “Of the original crew, only forty-two remained when we made contact, Captain.” He didn’t say that it wasn’t Kirk’s fault as Bones would have, but Kirk heard it just the same.

 

.o0o.

 


	9. Chapter 9

.o0o.

Part 9

.o0o.

 

McCoy sucked in a breath and held it to the count of ten before slowly releasing it. His heart was pounding hard in his chest at a pace that had almost nothing to do with the jog to Sickbay. Chapel had already called in the cavalry and there was a flood of activity as operating rooms were prepped for every possibility.

 

Nervousness permeated the air. No one on staff had worked on a Klingon before, and McCoy would bet that less than a quarter of them had even seen a Klingon in person before. His staff was afraid, afraid of being attacked, afraid of being killed, afraid of being elbow deep in an anatomy that they had no idea how to fix. And McCoy was afraid, too.

 

Knowing that there was only one method of preparation that would be of any use at all, McCoy straightened his back and let out a sharp, shrill whistle. “All right, everybody, listen up!” He shouted over the din, and every head whipped toward him. “It’s true we’re going to be working on Klingons.” A murmur seemed to run through the crowd and the CMO held up a hand for silence. “But more importantly, we’re going to be working on people. I expect each and every one of you to treat them with the same respect and determination as you would any other patient. If you can’t manage that, I don’t want you here.” No one moved. “Get help if it’s available and trust your training and your instincts if it’s not. This may well be one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, but you wouldn’t be here on the Enterprise if you weren’t capable of doing it.” His nurses were nodding and McCoy figured he must have done some good to boost morale. “Now get back to work.” He added in his normal surly tone.

 

“Nice speech.” M’Benga commented as he came up beside him. “Though you could work on your endings.”

 

“You ever work on a Klingon before?” M’Benga shook his head. “Wonderful.” McCoy snapped, “Chapel,” before turning sharply and starting to run for the transporter room. He could hear the orderlies hurrying behind him with stretchers. The crew they passed pressed themselves against the walls as they always did when they saw a doctor running.

 

The Klingons were just solidifying when McCoy skidded into the transporter room. They did not look good drenched in light pink blood and leaning on each other. The orderlies rushed forward to assist them off the pads as McCoy scanned their injuries. He latched onto one of the men, “Give this one to Sanchez,” he said, even as he hurried to help another man onto a stretcher, “and that one to M’Benga.”

 

“Sir, I think this one is the worst.” Chapel whispered near his ear, pointing across the room.

 

McCoy shook his head. There was no time; he wouldn’t make it. The time it took to help someone who would most likely not pull through would cost the life of one of the other severe cases. These were the calls he hated to make. “Go with him yourself and put him under.” There was a chance, if he worked through the others quickly, he could still go back and operate on that one.

 

Chapel nodded briskly and took off with one of the stretchers. They were understaffed for this sort of thing and their refugees would suffer for it. Already a few Klingons leaning against the walls had slid to the floor under buckling knees.

 

Another batch of Klingons appeared and McCoy zeroed in on the worst one, demanding that she be prepped for surgery. A few more Klingons appeared before the ship rocked, knocking half the injured off their feet and aggravating already severe wounds. The Lieutenant at the controls was shouting something about 15 survivors, but it felt like much more for McCoy as he struggled to bring an order to the chaos. Sickbay could handle 15 people.

 

McCoy recognized the Klingon captain in the middle of the mess, appearing relatively unscathed compared to the bloody mass of his crew. They locked eyes and for a brief moment, McCoy thought he looked no less than a bewildered and anguished human.

 

Picking out the rest of the top priority cases, McCoy left the rest of the patients to be brought up by the orderlies, where they would be cleaned, given some medicine for the pain and be treated as best as his nurses could do. Most of them would need surgery sooner rather than later, but the Enterprise only had three doctors, and they would have to wait.

 

When McCoy made it back to Sickbay, Chapel was already waiting for him with a prepped operating room. She briefed him as he scrubbed down. “Looks like she’s caught shrapnel all over her chest cavity, but the worst of it is on the inside. Bleeding internally.” She held out the PADD for him to view as he snapped on his gloves. “I’ll assist you.”

 

“No.” McCoy shook his head. “I need you to stabilize the other priority cases out there. Send me Xiao instead.” Chapel looked about to refuse. She always assisted McCoy’s surgeries. “Please.” He added, willing her to understand that it was because she was so competent that he didn’t want her there.

 

Seeming to get the message, Chapel turned and immediately began shouting orders. Confident that she could handle the pandemonium in the other room, McCoy set to work. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen a Klingon woman even in pictures before. Carefully cutting open the chest cavity, the doctor immediately cursed. At first glance, he was already prepared to make significant changes to the curriculum on Klingon anatomy. Granted, it had always been more conjecture and theoretical work than actual evidence. Klingons simply didn’t allow Federation doctors near them.

 

Clearing all extraneous thoughts from his mind, McCoy set to work on the tedious and time consuming work of pulling every piece of shrapnel from the woman’s body before she bled out.

 

.o0o.


	10. Chapter 10

.o0o.

Part 10

.o0o.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow in a silent question when the captain returned to the bridge so quickly after his third run down to Sickbay. The first had been to get himself personally acquainted with the situation. The second time he explained that he wanted to ensure the security detail he’d put on the Klingons was adequate. The last time he hadn’t even bothered giving an excuse.

 

“Chapel kicked me out… again. Bones is still in surgery.” Kirk took over his chair, sitting gingerly on the edge as if to be ready to rise again at a moment’s notice. Spock had already known that McCoy was still in surgery, which was why he was hesitant to disturb him. However, after twelve straight hours of surgery, the doctor was swiftly approaching exhaustion. Spock intended to do something about it now that the captain was on the bridge and had taken over control.

 

“Captain.”

 

“So,” Kirk began at the same time. Spock yielded to him, “Do you think in the future, we can send notes to our past selves?”

 

“It is not impossible.” Spock conceded. He’d been thinking about the note frequently since encountering the Klingons, revising old theories. “That we currently have Klingons aboard our ship as the note predicted substantially decreases the likelihood that the note was written under a different context. Given that we have now verified that you were the writer of said note, positing that it was sent from the future remains as one of our few logical conclusions.”

 

Kirk nodded. “But if we could send notes from the future, why wouldn’t we tell ourselves not to deal with Ninyal and avoid the whole linking mess?”

 

“I would advise against it. Even a very small change to our past could drastically alter our future. Do you recall the Butterfly Effect?”

 

“Sure.” Kirk responded, crossing his legs and getting a bit more comfortable in his seat. “A butterfly flaps its wings and causes a hurricane in Japan.”

 

Spock was not certain that the captain’s summation adequately expressed the complexities of the theory. Indeed, he couldn’t be entirely certain that Kirk understood the concept at all. “In a non-linear system, the fundamental interdependence of all variables creates a scenario where even the most miniscule of alterations in the initial conditions can produce vast differences further along.”

 

“That’s what I said.” Kirk squinted at him. “What’s your point?”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t comment. “If we were to risk it, it would have to be for something substantially more important than my future or the doctor’s.”

 

“So if the Enterprise was at stake?”

 

Spock shook his head. “Only if the Enterprise went on to have a profound and necessary impact on the lives of-”

 

“I get it.” Kirk cut Spock off with a hand. “It’s really important. I guess I’ll be keeping the Klingons on board, then.”

 

Spock waited by the captain’s chair an entire five point two seconds before making his request. “I believe I may be of some assistance to Dr. McCoy.”

 

Kirk hesitated exactly three point three seconds before responding, which was long enough to be noticeable, but not long enough to be remarkable. “If you can get passed his guard dog.”

 

Spock blinked. Occasionally, the captain’s use of colloquialisms was even more obscure than the doctor’s. “I do not believe Nurse Chapel would appreciate being addressed as such.” Kirk smiled and turned toward the empty viewscreen.

 

Spock made his way down to Sickbay. McCoy’s fatigue was bleeding through the link to the point of drawing the Vulcan’s attention. Did the doctor always continue to work when he was this tired? Had he simply never noticed? Spock had always known logically that McCoy was a good doctor, but his understanding and appreciation for this fact had substantially grown over the last few hours. Klingon anatomy was undocumented at best and down-right mysterious at worst. But the doctor did not hesitate, nor did he treat them as anything less than a human patient. He almost lost one of them and for ten long minutes, Spock had felt the traces of panic at the back of the doctor's mind as he attempted to identify the problem, but the panic never took control.

 

Chapel just nodded to him when he entered Sickbay, but didn’t move to stop him. Spock imagined that she felt he was far less disruptive than the captain or that the nurse was too tired to care anymore. She looked like the latter might be the case.

 

Donning a face mask, Spock slipped into McCoy’s operating room. The nurse glanced up at him and frowned, but said nothing as she studiously ignored him. McCoy didn’t look up from his work. “I’m almost done with this one, Spock.”

 

“Then you must rest.” Spock stated firmly.

 

“No can do.” McCoy wordlessly held out his hand and the nurse set an instrument in his palm with the hand that wasn’t holding an organ in place. “There’s just one more patient that can’t wait, though. Then I’ll be done for today.”

 

Spock folded his arms behind his back. “You are exhausted. Dr. Sanchez can take the last patient.”

 

McCoy was still concentrating on his task as he answered. “She’s been covering my shifts and hasn’t been getting enough sleep. Her nurse said she was starting to make mistakes, so I sent her to get some rest a couple hours ago.”

 

“What of Dr. M’Benga?” Spock had seen him in the outer room working on more menial cases.

 

“He lost two patients in a row.” McCoy responded somberly and with the sort of air that clearly stated he felt that Spock should simply understand. And he did, particularly with the accompanying projections the doctor was giving off. Losing a patient was hard. Losing two patients in a row was brutal, especially since M’Benga would feel it was due to some sort of incompetence on his part. Spock could feel McCoy’s admiration for the man that he was still able to be on shift.

 

Spock nodded gravely, though McCoy couldn’t see him. “Very well.” Spock may not be a surgeon, but he was determined to assist McCoy in some way. He slipped back out of the room and surveyed the main room of Sickbay. Most of the staff looked exhausted and frustrated. Dr. McCoy had frequently complained of being understaffed, but this was the first time Spock thought the comment deserved more merit than the statistical explanations given by Starfleet.

 

Chapel bumped into him on her way through and she mumbled an apology even as she was yawning. “Sorry.”

 

“Nurse Chapel, in your state of enervation, it may be unwise to continue to work.” He chided.

 

Chapel shook her head and straightened, drawing on nearly depleted reserves of energy. “We simply don’t have enough hands. See, normally we can inject the proper amount of medicine based on what we know of the species’ anatomy, but we simply don’t know enough about Klingons to have any basis of understanding. Each injection must be given incrementally as we gauge the reaction of the patient for any signs of allergy or distress. Even then, it’s difficult to tell because most of us don’t even know what the normal ranges for Klingons would be. It’s a miracle we’ve only lost two of them.” Chapel sighed. “We’ve got most of them treated now, but I can’t send anyone to get sleep because every patient needs constant monitoring.”

 

“I believe I may have a solution to your problem.” Spock responded, already appropriating a PADD and heading over to the nearest biobed. “It is a simple matter to reprogram the biobeds to include a Klingon setting and eliminate the need for constant surveillance.”

 

“That would certainly help, but most of the Klingons aren’t coherent enough to communicate and none of them appear to have any medical knowledge.”

 

Spock was already pressing numbers into his PADD. He handed it off to the nurse. “These are Dr. McCoy’s estimations of the standard Klingon heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature, and pulse.” Spock was fairly sure the doctor would not mind this intrusion into his knowledge. “Are you in accord?”

 

Chapel looked them over with an intense stare. “That seems about right. It’s kind of hard to say.”

 

“I trust Dr. McCoy’s opinion in this matter.”

 

“He would know.” Chapel agreed.

 

Spock pulled off the main display for the biobed and began fiddling with the settings. Switching the numbers was very simple and quick, and within ten minutes, every biobed had been given a new setting with the exception of the one McCoy was working on. “I’ve also turned the alarms back on so that you will be notified if the readings change.”

 

For a moment, Spock thought that Chapel might hug him, but she kept her distance and settled for a heart-felt, “Thank you!”

 

“It was only logical.” Spock stated in his own version of ‘you’re welcome.’

 

“I’m going to send some of these nurses to get some sleep.” Chapel informed him unnecessarily as she headed away. Spock waited patiently for another fifteen minutes before McCoy emerged from the operating room.

 

“What the hell’d you do with all my nurses?” He grumbled good-naturedly.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow, though McCoy was too busy washing his hands to notice. “Nurse Chapel sent them away.”

 

McCoy nodded. “I hope she sent herself away, too.”

 

“She did.” Spock stated aloud while mentally sending along the message that he felt the doctor should also be leaving.

 

“One more.” McCoy said, heading over to a bed on the far end of the room, stretching as he walked. The life signs were all alarmingly low. “I’m surprised he lasted this long.” McCoy murmured just within the range of Vulcan hearing. He then did a double take of the readings, belatedly processing the changes. He slowly raised his head and gave Spock one of his rare, genuine smiles completely unfettered by his normal grouchy and sarcastic edge. Underneath, Spock felt the flood of a comforting, warm appreciation. McCoy glanced around. “You changed all of them?”

 

“If you use another operating room, I can upgrade the bed you were using.”

 

McCoy nodded absently and smothered a yawn. “Thanks for that.” He snagged an orderly and had them bring the Klingon into the operating room, following slowly. “This’ll probably take a while. You should get some sleep.”

 

Spock nodded, though he had no intention of sleeping until after the doctor was tucked into bed. McCoy let it go and trudged into the operating room. Even his inexperienced eye could tell that the case the doctor was working on was statistically unpleasant. He estimated the chance of survival at two point four percent. However, Spock was also well aware that McCoy would not give up until that percentage hit zero. Spock thought that was one of the doctor’s more venerable traits.

 

After he finished the recalculations on the final biobed, Spock left Sickbay behind and made his way to Engineering. He had now completed two of the tasks Uhura had set out for him: spend time without contradicting the doctor and going out of his way for the express purpose of helping him; however, he did not appear to making any progress in his pursuit of the doctor as of yet.

 

“Spock!” Scotty greeted him with a smile. They’d always been on good terms, but recently, Spock had noticed that Scotty was a bit friendlier than in the past. “Got your order ready.” He led Spock over to one of the back consoles and flipped open a door. There was a stash of cylindrical packages. He shifted a few around then pulled out one that looked no different than the rest and handed it off.

 

Spock opened the bag slightly and gazed in at the bottle. “And this is the kind he prefers?”

 

Scotty nodded. “One of ‘em.” Then, he muttered, “Never thought I’d see the day.” Spock was uncertain if he was supposed to hear this comment, nor was he sure what it really meant. He raised an imploring eyebrow but Scotty didn’t comment further.

 

Depositing the alcohol in McCoy’s room with a card that Scotty insisted was necessary, Spock returned to the bridge to wait until the doctor finished his work.

 

.o0o.


	11. Chapter 11

.o0o.

Part 11

.o0o.

 

Despite the fact that Kirk had given him two days off after what he referred to as his miraculous work on the Klingons, McCoy’s internal alarm clock began to bleat annoying tunes at him a mere fifteen hours later. McCoy cracked an eye open and immediately looked to the chair placed abnormally by his bedside. It was empty.

 

McCoy rolled onto his back and stared up at his ceiling. Had he dreamt seeing Spock there five hours earlier? He remembered seeing him there, but he remembered him asking in his stoic tones for his location on the night of Brigley’s death, which had struck McCoy as odd even in his sleepy state because Spock already knew where he’d been that entire day. He’d worked a long shift, went to his quarters to get some sleep, and then visited Spock after some unpleasant dreams. McCoy shook his head. It had definitely been a dream. Maybe Spock would have asked that question, but McCoy definitely would not have woken up to contemplate the attractiveness of Spock’s features.

 

“You’re too old for this.” The doctor mumbled as he levered himself out of bed and stretched on his way to the shower. He had more important concerns than whether or not the damn Vulcan had kept his unconscious form company. The day before had been hell, an unending shift of Klingon guts and the smell of burnt flesh. And, to top it all off, he lost his last patient. He’d known it was coming, known that there was almost nothing he could do, but it still hurt every single time someone, anyone, died on his operating table. Three dead and twelve angry Klingons waiting in his very own Sickbay.

 

McCoy looked into the mirror and tried not to cringe at his own haggard face staring back at him. Combing his hair and smoothing his shirt, he grabbed a PADD and headed out of his room. Just a quick check-up on his Sickbay and then he would go straight back to bed, no prompting necessary. Scanning through the list of updates, he noted that a couple of the Klingons had slipped into a watch list and one was beginning to look like they might need a second surgery, but overall, most of their visitors had stabilized.

 

A flash of red caught the doctor’s eye, and he turned to see the security officer, Doah, walking along behind him. McCoy decided he was much too jumpy and blamed it on the Klingons being on board.

 

Even though there were far more than usual people in Sickbay, what with the twelve Klingons, the security guards posted next to each bed and several tired nurses, the area was very quiet. Most everyone was tired. One by one, McCoy checked every status and made adjustments as necessary. He assigned himself the final operation for a few days’ time, if the situation didn’t improve, and changed the dosage on a couple of the worsening cases.

 

Finally, McCoy made his way to the Klingon captain who had been eyeballing him as he made his rounds. McCoy prepared an injection, but the Klingon sneered at him and held him off. “You are the man in charge here?” Kritrok asked in a loud tone that had McCoy glancing about to see if he’d woken anyone.

 

“I’m the Chief Medical Officer.” McCoy responded, straightening his back as the Klingon somehow managed to stare down at him from his bed. He felt like he was taking some sort of test.

 

Kritrok growled, “I do not trust you. You allowed for three of my men to die.”

 

Later, McCoy would blame his rash and entirely stupid words on his exhausted state, but right then, McCoy felt justified when he growled right back, “And you allowed for three _hundred_ of your men to die. Of the two of us, I’d say I’m doing a better job.” McCoy felt rather than saw a stillness overtake the silent room as everyone waited impatiently for Kritrok’s response, himself included. He resisted the urge to take a step back. He’d heard bravery went a long way in Klingon culture.

 

Seconds ticked heavily by before the Klingon captain threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. “You are either very brave or very foolish, puny human.” McCoy didn’t respond but he felt the tension in the room ease substantially. “You may proceed.”

McCoy nodded and gave him the hypo, watching his life signs closely for a full minute before taking a few notes on the outcome. The captain, it seemed, was already well on his way to recovery. “What would you like done with the bodies?”

 

Kritrok shifted and tried to sit up. “I will care for them.” He stated.

 

McCoy was about to gently push him back down as he did when Kirk tried to make a run for it when he was ill, but quickly snatched his hand back before he made contact. “Fine.” He nodded curtly instead.

 

A trace of respect leaked into the captain’s eyes as he slowly stood and straightened, the white bandage around his head standing out starkly against his dark skin. Whatever test McCoy’d just taken, he’d apparently passed. Kritrok placed a hand on McCoy’s shoulder heavily enough to remind the doctor that he was still very tired and said, “My men owe you their lives and more importantly, their honor. They do not write legends of men who died of a malfunction in their ventilation system. I hope I can return the favor one day.” Then, Kritrok gravely walked toward the morgue, his austere air slightly diminished by the trailing security guard and the more than slight limp.

 

McCoy wasn’t sure what to say in response, anyway. Kritrok was turning out to be unpredictable. First, he’d gone into Federation space and asked for Federation assistance. Had that been an act of desperation? McCoy had always been taught that a Klingon would rather die than accept their help. Had that been wrong, or was something bigger at stake here? And now Kritrok had admitted to imperfections on board his ship. But not just any imperfection: the ventilation system. It was just too much to be a coincidence, wasn’t it?

 

“Doctor McCoy, what are you doing here?”

 

McCoy turned around abruptly and schooled his features so they wouldn’t betray his sudden feelings of being caught with this hand in the cookie jar. “This is my Sickbay, Nurse.” He rumbled at his head nurse. Chapel gave him a look that was clearly insubordinate and raised an eyebrow in her best impression of Spock. Rolling his eyes upward, McCoy shuffled to the door. “I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered.

 

He noted that were a couple more security guards posted outside of Sickbay and that Doah was one of them. He didn’t think much of it until he’d made it halfway to the commissary and Doah was still trailing behind him. McCoy turned sharply on his heel and folded his arms across his chest. “And why are you following me?” He demanded bluntly.

 

Doah gave an awkward smile. “Captain’s orders, sir.”

 

“And did he happen to mention why he was keeping tabs on me?” McCoy said in a tone that would remind Doah that the captain may give the orders, but _he_ had the power to make someone’s life miserable.

 

“No, sir.” Doah replied promptly, snapping off a formal salute.

 

McCoy almost chuckled, but remembered in time that he was angry and settled for a scowl instead. “Then I guess we’re going to pay the captain a visit.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The redshirt responded, following McCoy silently to the bridge without question.

 

McCoy folded his arms across his chest again. “What’s with my shadow?” He grunted, feeling inordinately tired all of a sudden.

 

“Bones!” Kirk deflected cheerfully. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

 

McCoy would have none of that. “Why have you put a guard on me?”

 

“Standard procedure.” Kirk waved flippantly. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

In an unexpected act of kindness, Spock rose and joined them to elaborate. “I apologize for not adhering to your request, Doctor, but I thought it best to inform the captain of your suspicions of an accomplice as soon as possible and was uncertain when you might be available to do so. The captain has ordered that anyone with a direct connection to Sagumpta including her coworkers and close friends be re-examined. When we were unable to verify your alibi, the captain was bound by protocol to either remove you from active duty or have a security guard accompany you.”

 

McCoy blinked. So, Spock had been in his room earlier asking about his whereabouts. And then he was angry again. “What the hell, Jim? You’re taking the word of a goddamn computer over me?”

 

“Of course not.” Kirk responded without missing a beat. “But given the new circumstances,” he glanced back and forth between his First Officer and his CMO to get his point across without words, “I really need to stick to the book for now. I can’t risk giving the appearance of favoritism.”

 

McCoy wasn’t entirely sure he followed. What did the situation between him and Spock have to do with anything? Feeling worn and unreasonable, McCoy decided that he really ought to get more sleep before he started combating the injustices in his life and let out a noise of frustration before stalking into the turbolift. He ignored Doah and stomped all the way back to his quarters, feeling only slightly better when the door snicked shut and hid the outside world. He probably should have mentioned the Klingon’s comment about the ventilation, but it would have to wait until he’d gotten some more sleep.

 

Finally, McCoy stretched and made his way towards the bed. He pulled off his boots as his went and almost immediately stepped on something hard which dug into his foot. He stooped and picked up his long forgotten universal translator, concluding that it’d fallen off his desk when the ship rocked from the explosion of the Klingon vessel. Then his mind slid over to the data disk Amanda had made and soon he was sitting at his desk. He leaned heavily on his arm and yawned as the disk began to play.

 

A thick, mechanical voice boomed into the room. “Pon Farr. Pon Farr is the mating ritual of Vulcan males.” McCoy’s eyes shot open, and he swiftly adjusted the volume to minimum, hoping Doah hadn’t heard that little exclamation. Spock’s _mom_ had given him this?

 

“Every seven years, a Vulcan male will enter a week long Pon Farr where his bodily functions will destabilize, and he will lose control of his mental faculties. At the peak of his Pon Farr is a daylong Plak Tow during which the Vulcan male must have sexual intercourse or the irregularities in his bodily functions will kill him. Once the Plak Tow has been satisfied, the Vulcan male will remain in a highly emotional state for the remainder of the Pon Farr week. Assuming sexual intercourse has been achieved, the physical and mental states will return to normal at the conclusion of this time.”

 

McCoy snickered. Vulcans were apparently too logical to have sex of their own volition so their bodies had to remind them to do it before they went extinct. He could surely find a way to tease Spock with this knowledge. Better yet, if Pon Farr had been what Amanda was talking about when she mentioned Spock’s ‘time’, he was about to see Spock lose control of his mental faculties. That could be entertaining. So Spock had to have sex. That was no big deal. It wasn’t like they were in a monogamous relationship. Hell, they weren’t even in a relationship. It would be fine.

 

The flurry of activity in his brain subsided as the tape continued. “Part II: Links and Pon Farr. An unlinked Vulcan male can only complete Pon Farr if he has successfully formed a link. These links need not be a marriage, and in rare cases can be as light as a friendship bond. However, these links are as necessary as the intercourse itself. Most often, an unlinked male entering Pon Farr will instinctively develop a marriage link with his partner. A previously linked male entering Pon Farr will automatically seek out his marriage partner. It is important that mates remain near their partners as their time approaches as a linked male will not be able to complete Pon Farr without his mate. The only exceptions would be in the case of death or severance of a bond.”

 

McCoy had only one response. Fuck.

 

.o0o.


	12. Chapter 12

.o0o.

Part 12

.o0o.

 

“I just checked it three times, Captain.”

 

Kirk shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable, but at this point, he just didn’t care. Had it only been four days since they’d rescued the Klingons? It felt like weeks. “And I’m telling you that there’s some kind of malfunction. Check it again.”

 

“Aye, sir.” Scotty had the good sense not to question him in this state and left the debriefing room to run yet another diagnostic, though they all knew he wouldn’t come up with anything. Kirk sighed and let his head fall to the table because it was just him and Spock now and Spock wouldn’t care.

 

“There is another possibility that you have not yet considered.” Spock put forth after a moment’s silence. “Doctor McCoy may have misinformed us of his whereabouts.”

 

“No, I already asked him again. Twice. The first time he was annoyed, and the second time, he was downright pissy. And I can’t say I blame him.” The captain sighed again because his best friend being the prime suspect for an accomplice to a murder was literally the least of his problems. The Klingons were starting to be released from Sickbay and even with the upgraded security detail of two people for every Klingon, his crew was still freaked out by their presence. Minor altercations had already cropped up and he was at his wits’ end to know how to keep things calm and quiet. To make matters worse, Starfleet was on his ass to know why he hadn’t dumped them on the nearest Starbase.

 

Spock was speaking again, and sometimes, Kirk really hated his logic. “I do not mean to imply that he misspoke.” Bones wouldn’t, couldn’t be involved in a murder. Kirk glared, feeling petulant and childish. Spock raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe the doctor was involved in Brigley’s death. However, he may have had other reasons to lie.”

 

“Okay, that’s fair.” Kirk sat up straight and tried to come up with other reasons why Bones might lie to him. He could have been counseling someone in confidence. Or maybe he was having a personal problem what that he didn’t want to talk about? But that didn’t make sense. “Bones sucks at lying. He may be able to evade questions, but he wouldn’t be able to pull this off. He looked me right in the eyes and said that he was sleeping. And I believe him.”

 

What Kirk really wanted to do was demand that Spock make a confirmation of Bones’ location with his telepathy. But both Spock and Bones would most assuredly not appreciate such a gesture. Even if they went through with it, their marital status made it impossible for him to use that evidence in any official way.

 

“Very well.” Spock conceded. “If Doctor McCoy was not lying and the machine is not malfunctioning, it would be logical to conclude that someone has tampered with it in order to frame the doctor.”

 

“Wonderful. A tech-savvy traitor in our midst.” Kirk internally cursed. He’d never liked contemplating the thought of one of his own crew betraying them, but now it looked like Sagumpta was not a one-time deal. Who could you trust if not your own people? Worse, whoever was behind all this seemed to have it out for Bones, which was just _not_ okay. “Compile a list of anyone who may have that kind of technical knowledge and crossreference it with a list of anyone who had access to this room. Then start the interviews. See if you can find anyone with a motive against our dear doctor. I’m going to try and get some more information out of the Klingon captain.”

 

Spock nodded and Kirk breezed out of the room. More was kind of an exaggeration. So far, he hadn’t managed to get so much as a thank you from the Klingons. Both of their interviews had consisted of little more than Kritrok sitting and staring at him for twenty minutes. Making his way to Sickbay, Kirk found the Klingon he was looking for watching over his wounded men. Although he’d been one of the first released, Kritrok never seemed to want to leave the injured.

 

“Jim!” Bones caught up with him and guided him into his office where two trays piled with food waited. “Sit. Eat.” He encouraged.

 

“I need to-”

 

“You need to eat.” The doctor cut him off, pushing on his shoulders until he sat. Then Bones came around and plopped down in front of his own tray. “You know I can tell when you haven’t been eating. You sort of hunch over more.”

 

“You’d be so much more convincing if you didn’t have this tray ready when I got here.”

 

Bones rolled his eyes. “Okay, Spock told me you haven’t eaten yet today. Sue me.”

 

Kirk stood. “I’ll eat just as soon as I talk to Kritrok again.”

 

Snorting, Bones pushed the captain’s tray closer. “After all the success you had the last time? Sit. Eat. I’ll tell you what I managed to get out of him.”

 

“You?” Kirk couldn’t help the disbelief that slid into his tone.

 

“Don’t give me that look.” Bones pointed a finger at him. “Talking to a measly doctor looks a whole lot less like cooperating with the Federation from the Klingon viewpoint, especially considering how low doctors stand on their totem pole.”

 

Kirk dropped back down and took a bite from his food, talking with his mouth full. “So what’ve you got?”

 

“It seems like a couple of malfunctions put them in that situation. First, their navigation system fried for what Kritrok suspects was some sort of sabotage. He seems to think it was the Romulans, though I think he was just looking for someone to blame. That’s how they ended up so far into our space.”

 

“If we want to believe what they say.”

 

Bones shrugged. “We’re pretty far out ourselves. I can’t imagine they were trying to spy around here. And anyway, here’s where it gets interesting. The cause of devastation on the Klingon ship? The ventilation system failed. Coincidence?”

 

“Probably.” Kirk nodded, swallowing the mound of food. “It’s a pretty big stretch to think that there’s some connection. I mean, they’re Klingons.”

 

“Well, yeah, but…” Bones leaned in closer, “But what if they are connected? What if we’ve been looking at things backwards this whole time? What if Sagumpta didn’t put Brigley’s body in the vent to dispose of it, but got the body to put in the vent? We assumed that this was all some argument that didn’t end well… what if it was all about making that vent explode? Didn’t Scotty say if it had been just a bit different location, it would have caused the warp drive to blow? That would have destroyed the ship. What if Brigley got in the way? What if he was just collateral damage?”

 

“That’s a lot of ‘what ifs’. No offense, Bones, but you’re a doctor, not a detective. Sure that’s possible, but it makes a whole lot more sense the other way around. That was a Klingon ship; why would there be any similarities, anyway?”

 

“Ah, maybe you’re right.” Bones agreed in a way that made Kirk certain he’d hear this topic again. “Anyway, I’ve gotta talk to you about something personal.”

 

Kirk pushed back his chair. “Now isn’t exactly the best time. After I have my staring contest with Kritrok, I’ve got about a dozen other disputes to mediate. Then, I get to explain to Starfleet what exactly I’m doing. How about tonight in my quarters?”

 

.o0o. 


	13. Chapter 13

**.o0o.**

**Part 13**

.o0o.

 

Spock could not say with any definitive certainty what had caused the sudden shift in their relationship, but after three days, he had sufficient evidence to confirm his suspicion that McCoy was avoiding him. Even taking into account the increase in the doctor’s workload and his not insignificant tendency toward unpredictable behavior due to his highly emotional state, comparative data of the duration and frequency of their interactions prior to the Klingons’ arrival and post Klingon surgeries indicated that McCoy was intentionally evading any interaction that was not strictly necessary for his work. Even Spock’s more neutral attempts, such as his pointing out that their captain had not eaten for over eighteen hours had been met with stony silence. This was unacceptable.

 

When dealing with human interactions, Spock was generally content to allow his companions time and space in order for the poignancy in their emotions to fade so that their logical side would be more accessible. Many times, crew members would feel compelled to apologize for their emotional outbursts and would then agree with his logic. However, Spock did not feel inclined to allow the current situation to rest with his time constraints.

 

That is how Spock found himself outside one of the lesser-used medical research labs in Sickbay, nodding to Security Officer Doah as he passed through the doors. McCoy stiffened slightly when he entered, and Spock could feel his mental barriers raise, putting Spock’s training to good use. McCoy only turned his head slightly before resuming his work. “I’m kind of busy here.”

 

Unperturbed, Spock stepped closer. Perhaps now would be a good time to follow another of Uhura’s recommendations. She had suggested that he express a shared interest, and both he and the doctor enjoyed their research. “I may be of some assistance; I am skilled in scientific research.”

 

McCoy snorted. “Yeah. Kind of aware of that.” Spock considered the source of the doctor’s ire. McCoy often complained that Medical fell under Sciences, but Spock didn’t have the authority to change anything, and Kirk never took him seriously. First, he’d dismissed it as his friend not wanting Spock to be his boss, and then he took to responding that they were out of primary colors. “I don’t need a new color, just slap a different emblem on there.” McCoy had argued back. Medical remained where it was.

 

Ignoring McCoy’s harsh tone, Spock stepped beside him and examined the apparatus set up. “What are you researching?”

 

“This.” McCoy gestured to a small, rock-like item sitting innocuously in a plastic tray. It was about the same shape and size as a chicken’s egg, but its surface was rough and it was a speckled grey color. “I found it while we were on Andar IX. I only just got a bit of time to do some research on it. Been too busy piecing together Klingons.”

 

“And what have you discovered?”

 

“Well, it’s not a rock. It actually appears to be organic material, but I couldn’t tell you what it is. And that’s not the most interesting part.” McCoy reached forward and picked up the test subject, holding it carefully in the palm of his hand. “It glows when you touch it.”

 

Spock’s eyebrow flew up as it began to glow. “Have you isolated the cause of the luminescence?”

 

The doctor shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve tried heat, pressure and even moisture with no results. Yet it glows every time you touch it.”

 

“Have you tested the reaction to contact with other people?” Spock enquired, strategically placing his hand over the tray as McCoy went to put it back. Outwardly, it would appear as though he were testing the effect, but Spock also hoped that the contact with the doctor might give him a clue as to the doctor’s avoidance as well.

 

The glow brightened as their hands touched, but Spock glimpsed only thoughts concerning the science project at hand. McCoy withdrew his hand and the whitish light faded and disappeared. “That’s odd.” McCoy mumbled. “I just had four other people touch it, and it glowed for all of them. I wonder if you being a Vulcan has anything to do with it. Skin excretions would be slightly different, I suppose.”

 

“It is most fortunate that I was here, then, or you would have been missing a vital piece of information.” Spock stated.

 

McCoy squinted at him as if he were trying to figure him out, but Spock kept his eyes on their project. “Sure,” McCoy conceded as he set up the gear for another slew of tests, “That could be very helpful.”

 

Spock allowed the silence to linger as they began testing. He was patient, so it didn’t bother him that twenty minutes passed with no more than three words between them. It also didn’t bother him that they appeared to be making no progress. The glow was triggered only when McCoy touched the subject. McCoy sighed, “Well, maybe the report I ordered will give us a few clues.”

 

As he turned, Spock asked the question that’d been plaguing him, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

 

The doctor turned sharply on his heel and folded his arms across his chest. While anger was at the forefront of the emotions that were trickling into Spock’s mind through the link, he could also feel a great deal of confusion and hurt. “Pon farr?”

 

Spock was briefly thrown by the response. How had the doctor even learned of Pon farr? He’d had to have had contact with someone on Vulcan. “My mother told you of this?”

 

“And a damn good thing she did. Spock, how could you _not_ tell me about this?”

 

“I intended to inform you after-”

 

“I don’t care.” McCoy cut him off. “How long do you have before your… problem?”

 

Spock straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “Approximately sixty-four days.”

 

“That’s not a lot of time.” McCoy slouched and furrowed a brow; the Vulcan thought it might be a bad sign that his friend hadn’t commented on the imprecision of his answer. “Do you… Is there a way… Can you….” The human threw up his hands and shook his head as he started and stopped. “I need a drink.”

 

Spock nodded stiffly, “I will be available to answer any questions you may have.”

 

The door swished open. McCoy’s face seemed a bit more red than normal as he turned to face Nurse Chapel. “I have that report…” Chapel said in a stilting, quiet voice. She took a step backwards and nearly ran into the door as it closed. Spock wondered briefly if she had been told of their relationship.

 

“Thank you.” McCoy responded tersely, taking the PADD from her grip and looking over it. Chapel took the opportunity to back out of the room. “Huh.” He scrolled through a few pages, and then handed it off to Spock. “It’s a seed.”

 

Spock glanced down at the composition and the structure, and he had to agree with the doctor’s assessment. “It would appear so.”

 

“But to what?”

 

“Given that you found the seed on Andar IX, and the extremely limited plant-life that has demonstrated an ability to sustain itself there, it seems logical to conclude that the seed likely belongs to an Indyrin.”

 

McCoy nodded enthusiastically and picked up the seed again, watching it glowing brightly. “Then, it’s not reacting to skin excretions at all; it’s reacting to emotions! You know what this means? We might be able to save the Indyrin.”

 

“Bones?”

 

McCoy walked over to the wall and pressed the button. “McCoy here.”

 

Kirk’s voice sounded a bit tired, but it was clear he was trying to keep his tone chipper. “I’ve got some time if you want to meet me at my quarters.”

 

“I’ll be there in a minute.” McCoy turned off the communicator and shoved the seed into Spock’s hands before heading for the door. He slowed before he exited, but just shook his head without saying a word.

 

The exchange had not been what he’d expected. Experience had taught him to brace for loud, angry outbursts when giving the doctor unpleasant news, but McCoy had been downright civil to him throughout the conversation. He hadn’t yet agreed to help Spock, but he hadn’t refused yet, either. It seemed there was little the Vulcan could do but to wait while the doctor decided his fate. Spock had never felt so disinclined to wait, particularly when McCoy had so eagerly responded to Kirk’s beckoning. If their captain were in his situation, would McCoy need to deliberate as he was now?

 

Spock looked down at the seed in his hands, which had faded slightly but was still glowing, even without the doctor’s presence. He pushed his emotions further away, and the seed faded back to the dull gray color. It was unsettling how much McCoy seemed to bring his emotions to the surface.

 

Running a quick risk/benefit analysis in his head, Spock decided to visit the Botany Lab. While there was some risk involved in trying to grow the Indyrin, his previous experience with the species, their benevolent nature and the capacity for scientific discovery combined to produce a logically sound explanation for the attempt. As the head of Sciences, he could begin immediately.

 

Sulu and Chekov were discussing on the far side of the room when he entered, but didn’t stop to talk to him. Spock began calibrating one of the test chambers to the specifics of the planet Andar IX, listening to their conversation with his excellent hearing as he worked.

 

“Well, sure, a modified Johnson-Tythe field could definitely knock out the warp and weapon systems on a Klingon vessel, but you’d have to get it onto the Klingon ship somehow, and I just don’t see that happening.” Sulu was responding to the question Chekov must have posed before Spock entered the room, continuing to water his flowers as he spoke. “We’d have to beam it over there before they get their shields up, and as far as I’m concerned, Klingon ships live with their shields up.”

 

“Yes, but the Johnson-Tythe field can permeate most shields.” Chekov responded animatedly, trying to push his PADD in front of Sulu. “Now I’ve built a prototype combined with a dilithium generator, which should give it enough range to hit an entire fleet of Klingon vessels.”

 

“Is the captain aware of your endeavors?” Spock stood and joined them, looking over Chekov’s shoulder to see his schematics.

 

“Aware? Sir, he’s the one who ordered me to come up with a solution if we run into a fleet of Klingons. I think having the Klingons on board is making him as nervous as the rest of us.”

 

Spock ignored the final comment which probably would have been called insubordinate on a stricter ship and addressed what seemed like the bigger issue. “As we cannot be certain of the effect the Johnson-Tythe field will have on Klingon shields, the only ship that will assuredly be rendered defenseless should your plan succeed is our own. I believe it is time to, as you humans say, go back to the drawing board.”

 

Chekov appeared a bit put out by Spock’s assessment, but he snapped off a salute and left the room with a quick, “Yes, sir.”

 

Putting down his watering bucket, Sulu turned to face the Vulcan. “If I may, sir, I think Chekov’s plan had potential. If nothing else, it could buy us some time if we were surrounded by Klingons.”

 

“Mr. Sulu, we do not need potential; we need results.”

 

“What’s that?” Sulu interrupted, pointing to Spock’s hand. Spock held up the seed, which was glowing brightly. He could feel his control over his emotions slipping, but he wasn’t sure what was causing it. Perhaps it was exposure to the seed? Whatever the case, he needed to regain some control in privacy.

 

“This is an Indyrin seed. I was adjusting the settings on test chamber three to the environment of Andar IX to begin growing it when I-” Spock hesitated briefly. He was about to say that he’d been distracted, but what kind of message would that send?

 

“Sir?” Sulu took a step closer in concern. “Are you feeling all right?”

 

“I am not ill.” Spock responded evasively. “You will finish adjusting the settings and plant the seed. Keep me informed of its progress.” He set the seed into Sulu’s hand and walked stiffly from the room, conscious of his slipping control over his facial muscles. He did not wait for Sulu’s response, but he heard the affirmation before the door snicked shut.

 

Spock walked swiftly to his quarters and sat on his chair. He breathed in and out for several minutes, closing his eyes and trying to regain his control. It wouldn’t come. Surely his separation from the seed would have helped by now? Maybe it had nothing to do with the seed.

 

Twice more he tried to meditate but found himself easily distracted. It was far too early for symptoms of Pon Farr, and Vulcan biology never strayed this far from its normal precision.

 

Spock’s mind swirled with competing emotions. He wanted to call his mother and force her to see what her good intentions may have cost him. He wanted to challenge Kirk for kissing his mate. He wanted to hack away at the link until it freed him.

 

“I am a Vulcan.” He straightened his back and folded his legs into his normal meditation position. “Emotions are of the mind, and the mind can be controlled.” Spock tried some more deep breaths and felt some of his control return. Whatever was happening, he could handle it.

 

Spock was just beginning to drift into a deeper meditative state when his door chimed.

 

.o0o.


	14. Chapter 14

.o0o.

Part 14

o0o.

 

McCoy was brave enough to admit that he was hiding. After a while, he thought what he'd recommend to someone in his shoes and decided that he needed someone to talk to. And although it was going to be awkward as hell, Jim was his first (and only) choice.

 

He’d even brought a drink, the same one Spock of all people had left in his quarters. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture. Maybe he’d calculated that the doctor’s efficiency went down when he didn’t have a drink to look forward to after a long day? Or maybe it was some sort of gifting tradition as part of Pon farr. He didn’t know. He had about a thousand questions to ask Spock, but he needed to find some way to wrap his brain around the mere idea of Pon farr first.

 

Or maybe Spock was trying to employ Earth customs. McCoy snorted.

 

“Care to let me in on the joke?” Kirk asked, twisting his glass between his hands.

 

“No.” McCoy responded abruptly. “You’re not drunk enough yet.”

 

“Now, Bones, I’m not some cheap date.” The captain chided, even as he drained his glass and poured himself some more. “And what would Spock say if he knew what you were doing?”

 

“He’s the one that gave me the booze.” McCoy returned, intentionally misinterpreting Kirk’s jest. He did not want to think about plying Kirk with alcohol any more than he wanted to think about Spock’s reaction to that situation. When had things gotten so weird between them all? Oh, right, when he’d married Spock.

 

Kirk straightened. “So it doesn’t affect him through the link?”

 

“Actually, I don’t know. This will be the first time we’ve tested it.”

 

“And you didn’t bring him along to see? What kind of experiment is this?”

 

“It’s not an experiment.”

 

“Right.” Kirk agreed, and McCoy had to wonder if he hadn’t planned this, “It’s a conversation about your personal problems, which you seem to be avoiding talking about.”

 

McCoy sighed and slouched into his chair because he wasn’t one to put off the inevitable. “I have to have sex with Spock or he’ll die.”

 

“Wow. That sounds like a really contrived plot to an old television show, and oh god, you’re serious.” The captain blurted out all in one breath.

 

Taking another long swallow from his cup, McCoy spoke at the table. “Apparently, Vulcans are too logical for the occasional hanky-panky in the closet, so their biological clock has to remind them every once in a while to reproduce. On penalty of death. Of course, since Vulcans are also strictly monogamous, they have to do it with the person they’re linked to or it doesn’t work.”

 

“So, essentially, you have to have sex with Spock or he’ll die.”

 

“That about sums it up.” McCoy responded, feeling his cheeks burn and mentally blaming it on the alcohol and not some sort of embarrassment.

 

“And I don’t suppose there’s any other way out of it.”

 

Kirk’s tone had taken on that cocky edge that always seemed to appear when he knew something you didn’t. McCoy wasn’t fond of that tone being directed at him, but he was prepared to play along because it also meant that Kirk had some sort of solution worked out in his mind. McCoy desperately wanted one of those. “Last chance to jump ship ended with the failed severance.”

 

“So, you have to have sex with Spock or he’ll die.”

 

“I think we’ve clarified that.” McCoy ground out, slumping further into his chair.

 

“So,” Kirk continued, altogether too slowly for his friend’s taste as he leaned back and pasted a smug smile on his face. “What’s the problem?”

 

McCoy briefly contemplated the value of smashing the glass bottle over Kirk’s head and compared it to the unfortunate side-effect of being court-martialed. In the end, his decision not to do violence probably had more to do with the quality of the drink that would be wasted than any official consequences. Taking a deep breath, McCoy let his voice take on the most patronizing tone he could muster. “The problem, Jim, is that I am straight, and even if I weren’t, Spock is the last guy I would want to sleep with.”

 

“Really? Because from where I’ve been sitting, you guys have been making an awful lot of goo-goo eyes at each other.”

 

“Jim.” It was time to pull out his warning tone. His best friend knew better than to keep going after that.

 

Or maybe not. “And I mean, Spock is not a bad looking fellow. There are definitely guys that should be way lower on that list. Personally, I think-”

 

“Jim!” Maybe he could chug the rest of the bottle quickly before smashing it over his companion’s head.

 

In the blink of an eye, the childish tone evaporated, and Kirk was looking at him sternly. McCoy felt kind of drunk. “You seem to have forgotten two very important things. First, Spock would rather castrate himself and lock himself in the brig until his biology killed him than force you to do this. In fact, he’s probably making back-up plans to do just that, just in case.”

 

McCoy knew this, maybe not the part about self-castration, but he was convinced that Spock would allow himself to die if it came to that. McCoy supposed he had always known this, but hearing it in such plain, simple and utterly factual language somehow changed everything. Kirk sat patiently, waiting for a sign that the message had finally permeated the doctor’s inebriated brain. McCoy swallowed. “And second?”

 

“And second, you would rather bury yourself in a moldy tomb with a thousand Berraidian Lumpworms and wait out the seven months it would take them to eat you alive than let Spock die when you could do something to save him.”

 

Shivering slightly at the reminder of the nightmare he was beginning to regret telling Kirk, McCoy had nothing left to say. It really was that simple. So, what had he been so worried about before? McCoy nodded and stood. “Uh, thanks.” He said awkwardly, making his way towards the door.

 

“Oh, and Bones?” McCoy turned slightly, feeling much more drunk than seconds before when he had to lean against the wall. “Spock asked me to put you up for a commendation.”

 

McCoy’s eyebrows slunk lower as he tried to think of anything he’d done worth a commendation. “What for?”

 

“For your work on the Klingons. Spock was pretty impressed. I was too. I’ve already put in the paperwork.”

 

Nodding, McCoy left the room without another word.

 

Spotting Spock’s door along the quick trip between the captain’s quarters and his own, he made a spontaneous detour and buzzed for entry. He was more than a little tipsy, but he wanted to talk to Spock before he could mutilate himself in despair. McCoy shook his head. Like Spock would ever do that.

 

Spock took slightly longer than usual when answering the door, and McCoy wasn’t too drunk to miss the overly green flush on his cheeks or the power behind the emotions dancing along the link. Spock opened his mouth for what McCoy already knew to be a protest, so the doctor quickly pushed passed him and invited himself into the Vulcan’s room. He perched on the edge of the desk.

 

“So, how does this thing work?”

 

“I am uncertain of what you are referring.”

 

“Um… Pon farr ringing any bells?” McCoy automatically reached for his medkit, which was not at his side, so he reflexively reached up to feel Spock’s forehead. Such a movement was, of course, useless, since Spock always felt overly warm to him. “You feeling all right?”

 

“I am not unwell.” Spock stated, taking hold of the doctor’s hand before he could pull it all the way back. He took a step closer, crowding the doctor against his desk. “You intend to assist me, then?”

 

Spock’s breath was hot against his face, and McCoy wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the link that as begging him to close the distance between them, but he was sure he wasn’t drunk enough for that. While he stood deliberating upon the appropriate response, Spock leaned in, then took a step back and straightened. “My apologies. I am quite intoxicated.”

 

“I do.” The doctor replied hastily, “Intend to help. I’m just not sure how, exactly.”

 

Spock nodded and, for the second time in as many minutes, took hold of McCoy’s hand, guiding it into the space between them. Gently, he positioned the hand so that the pointer finger and the middle finger pointed straight out and the other fingers were bent into the palm. Then he mimicked the position with his own hand and pressed them together. Just that contact caused the link the tingle and vibrate.

 

“Close your eyes.” Spock instructed, waiting until he did so before beginning to slowly trace along his hand with the pads of his first two fingers.

 

The experience was entirely different than what McCoy had expected or experienced before. He felt warm all over, like being swaddled in an electric blanket and instantly more relaxed. His hands felt more sensitive than he could ever remember them being. Deep colors swirled behind his eyelids, drawing out pleasure like an epiphany subconsciously derived from profound poetry. It was like being able to touch fireworks as they burst against the night sky.

 

When Spock’s hand stilled against his, he didn’t need any prompting to return the gesture. He felt clumsy in comparison, like he was only able to conjure up one of the majestic colors he’d seen. Still, Spock’s own pleasure was echoing back through the link, so he must have been doing something right.

 

His hand stilled. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might enjoy helping Spock. Yet, he couldn’t deny that this… whatever they were doing, was a very pleasurable experience.

 

“I have to go.” Spock made no move to stop him.

 

.o0o.


	15. Chapter 15

.o0o.

Part 15

.o0o.

 

“Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

 

Kirk rolled over to his side, barely conscious. Already, he was making plans to demote Lieutenant Schwartz if it was another case of a heated argument with one of the Klingons. “Do you know what time it is?” The chronometer said it was a quarter past four in the morning. As a captain, he’d been woken up at all times of the night, but this was by far his least favorite.

 

“Yes, sir.” Schwartz was speaking like he was snapping off an unseen salute, and Kirk momentarily wondered if he’d made his threat audibly. “We’ve found the Pioneer.”

 

“On my way.” Kirk was already sitting up and pulling on his uniform shirt. He messaged Spock and told him to get to the bridge. Without waiting for a response, he jogged straight to the Bridge.

 

Schwartz flew out of the captain’s chair like it’d burned him, and Kirk quickly took his place. “Magnify.” He ordered when he saw the small metallic dot on the viewscreen. A large broken ship took its place. A giant hole was occupying the space where engineering should have been, and most of the rear half of the ship was shredded. Space debris was floating around the wreckage, completing the hopeless appearance. Kirk took a deep breath. Their rescue mission had just turned into a recon mission. “Life signs?” He tried to keep his own doubt out of his voice.

 

“Can’t tell from this distance, sir.” Chekov responded from the Science Station. Spock still hadn’t arrived.

 

“All right. Yellow alert. Whoever did this to them might still be out there.”

 

“Doubtful.” Spock stated as he slid into the room smoothly.

 

“Rough night?” Kirk asked in reference to his relative tardiness.

 

Spock ignored the question. “Not only would the presumed duration of time between the damage to the Pioneer and our arrival make such a wait unlikely, the damage that has been done to the ship does not appear to be from an outside source.” The Vulcan slipped into his own seat, automatically running the appropriate scans.

 

Kirk joined him, leaning over to see the results of the scans for himself. “So it wasn’t an attack?”

 

“It does not appear so, at least not an outside attack.”

 

The ship slowed down as it neared the other vessel. “Any life signs?” The captain asked again.

 

Spock looked down and answered with his normal precision. “There are exactly 283 live humanoids located on deck five. It is the only remaining deck with any residual life support or power.”

 

Kirk perked up. This was better than he had dared to hope. “Well, what are we waiting for, then? Patch me through.”

 

“No response.”

 

“I guess we’re going to have to go over there ourselves.” Kirk reasoned. “Spock, you’re with me. Chekov, you’re in charge. Schwartz, get Dr. McCoy to meet us in the Transporter Room.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

Spock stood and followed him into the turbolift. “Given our limited understanding of the situation, I would recommend protective gear, possibly full safety suits, as a precaution.”

 

“Noted.” Kirk responded. It was a good idea. He leaned against the wall. “You talk to Bones yet?”

 

“I spoke with him this evening.”

 

“Ah.” Kirk wondered if there really was a harder edge to his tone or if it was just his imagination. In the couple of hours he’d been thinking about his conversation with Bones before bed, it’d occurred to him that the whole Pon farr thing might have been the source of Spock’s recent unease around him. They were both too good at their jobs to let it affect their work, but he could tell it was there.

 

Bones was already in the Transporter Room when they got there, and he looked like he hadn’t slept much, if at all. “Does he have to come?” Bones asked, folding his arms across his chest in a surly manner.

 

For a moment, Kirk thought he was talking about Spock as that was often the tone his friend took on when he and the Vulcan got into an argument. Then he spotted Doah waiting patiently by the door. Doah didn’t seem particularly offended, and it was that kind of attitude that had earned him the position of following the doctor around. Kirk frowned. “No can do.”

 

“How much faith am I going to be able to muster with the crew of the Pioneer if I have to be guarded?”

 

“Or they’ll just think that he’s there to protect you. It’s the regs, Bones.”

 

Unexpectedly, Spock came to the doctor’s aid. “Captain, the regulations are not specific on who must guard a possible suspect.”

 

Kirk threw up his hands. “Fine. But just while we’re on the Pioneer. Doah, take a break.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Bones seemed satisfied by this and willingly crawled into a hazmat suit without his normal amount of grumbling. This whole thing was rather ridiculous. He couldn’t think of anyone less likely to be involved in a murder. “Are we all set?” He asked vaguely as they stepped into the transporter. “Energize.”

 

They reappeared in a hallway on the Pioneer. It was icy cold, barely sustainable for humans. Spock was already scanning the room for any signs of danger. Bones stopped a pair of ecstatic people walking by to scan them for communicable diseases. “All clear.”

 

“My scans suggest an acceptably miniscule risk in removing our gear.” Spock added.

 

Pulling off the mask, Kirk sucked in some air, quickly realizing that it was of poor quality. “Can you take us to your captain?”

 

The man in a blue uniform nodded. “Right this way.” They were led past one rec room and into another. The whole floor was plastered with blankets and groups of people huddled together to keep warm. A cheer broke out when they were spotted, and the whole atmosphere of the room drastically changed from despair to pleasure.

 

A woman dressed in gold greeted them. “Captain Baker, and I’m mighty glad to see you.” A man in gold appeared next to her, and she introduced him as First Officer Stark. “Captain Kirk, I presume. So that must be the Enterprise here to save our sorry hides.” Her words were self-deprecating, but her expression was one of elation. She shook Kirk’s hand.

 

Kirk nodded, turning to the doctor. “Bones, check over the crew in this room and then get them beamed aboard the Enterprise.” McCoy nodded and went to work. Kirk turned back to the other captain. “What’s your status?”

 

“Well, you probably already know most of it.” Baker began. “We’re running on back-up back-up power, and we’re about at the end of that, too. I’ve got the life support systems set to absolute minimums with almost zero filtration available. The last replicator went two days ago, and we’re just about out of water. If you’d taken any longer, Captain, you probably would have found a ship full of corpses. It’s bad enough we lost over a hundred when Engineering blew.”

 

“What happened here?”

 

Baker was shaking her head. “We lost Engineering, and it fried most of our systems when it went. We almost lost the warp drive, but we were able to beam it far enough away that it only did minimal damage when it blew. We weren’t able to contact Starfleet before that, so our only hope was to stretch our resources as far as we could and hope for rescue.”

 

Kirk’s brow furrowed. “Malfunction?” Even as he said the word, it tasted funny. Either the Federation was getting pretty lax on its ship designs or there was something else behind all these malfunctions.

 

“Definitely not.” Stark butted in. “We caught the guy as he was making some final touches, but he denies knowing anything. I haven’t been able to get anything out of him.”

 

“And what did he do?”

 

Stark was quick to answer. “He set the ventilation system to blow. That’s what took out Engineering. It was too late by the time we found him to do anything.” He clenched his fists; Kirk could tell he was struggling to control his temper.

 

“Damn.” Kirk grunted. “That’s three. Bones was right.” At the time, it had seemed preposterous that Brigley’s murder and the convenient place to dispose of his body was actually an elaborate scheme to destroy the Enterprise.

 

“Four.” Spock corrected.

 

“What? There was the Enterprise, the Klingon ship and now the Pioneer.” Kirk listed off.

 

“The Farragut was originally scheduled for this mission but was removed when it encountered a problem with its ventilation system.” Spock explained in a tone that was clearly berating the captain for not reading the reports properly. “Given the similarities between these occurrences, it would not be unreasonable to postulate that the Defender may also have been destroyed from the same cause.”

 

“Wait.” Baker interrupted their dialogue with a hand. “You mean this has been happening to other ships? And did you say Klingon ship?”

 

“It now appears statistically probable that there is an underlying cause to the series of saboteurs and their use of the ventilation system, though that cause is as yet undetermined.” Spock summarized.

 

Kirk rubbed his forehead. “We encountered some Klingons on our way here with a similar problem. If you can believe a Klingon.”

 

“I do believe them. About this, anyway.” Bones added, shouldering his medkit and joining their circle. He’d finished sending everyone in that room to the Enterprise. “There isn’t much reason to lie in this case.”

 

Kirk didn’t say anything, though he was inclined to believe that a Klingon didn’t need a reason to lie. If it hadn’t been for the note, he would have dumped them off at the nearest station. Of course, the delay may have cost Baker’s crew. Perhaps that was what the note had meant? Kirk shook his head. Spock had insisted that it would have to be something much more serious than that. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. “Was there an accomplice? We think there might have been one on our ship.”

 

Baker was already nodding. “We’re pretty sure one of our communications’ officers mangled that system before we were able to contact Starfleet. She committed suicide before we were able to get to her.”

 

“Something never sat well with me about Hongli.” Stark added.

 

“Hongli you said?”

 

Kirk turned. “You know her, Bones?”

 

“Maybe.” Bones’ eyes had taken on a faraway look, and Kirk wished he had Spock’s ability to see what was going on inside his head. “Sounds familiar. I-” McCoy’s voice dropped off.

 

Kirk was lucky he was already facing the doctor or he might not have noticed him raising his phaser in time to dodge. The wall sizzled behind him. Kirk’s eyes fell to the phaser in his hands. It was set to kill. McCoy’s eyes still had that faraway look, like he was still thinking hard about something else even as he became lethal.

 

“Bones!” He shouted as another shot skimmed his side. They were too close. Suddenly he was very glad that Bones avoided practicing shooting like it was the four horsemen.

 

Stark and Baker had already backed off as neither of them had been wearing a phaser; Stark was taking cover behind a table while Baker was sneaking around the room towards a stash of supplies. If they’d been using them for heating, chances were their phasers would be out of power. “What are you doing? Snap out of it!”

 

He reached for his own weapon as a third shot nicked his leg, and he twisted awkwardly out of the way. Time seemed to slow down as his friend lined up another shot. Kirk was off balance. There was no way to avoid this shot. McCoy’s eyes were eerily blank.

 

Blood rushing in his ears, Kirk heard the shot go off and prepared for impact. A heartbeat later, he saw Bones fall to the ground, phaser clattering across the floor. His head turned like an ungreased wheel. Slowly, his eyes trailed up the steady phaser, past the emotionless expression to the agonized eyes of his First Officer.

 

.o0o.

 


	16. Chapter 16

.o0o.

Part 16

.o0o.

 

In the space of a few seconds, Spock's mind whirred frantically to accommodate his new situation and his actions. He was used to his logical side and his emotional side warring with each other. It was a war that his emotions almost always lost. His logical mind told him that he'd taken the most logical action by fulfilling his duty and protecting his captain and that his phaser had been set to stun and that the doctor would, of course, be fine.

 

But this battle was entirely different.

 

The slow, steady drumbeat of his logic could barely be made out above the shrieking trills of his emotions. Like the shrill, pervasive whistle of an off-key piccolo, Spock's thoughts came at him. How could he have shot his mate, stun or no stun? How could he have hesitated to defend his captain? How could his mate have betrayed them like this? What had the hollowness inside McCoy's mind meant? How had he not seen this coming? How had he not stopped it without violence?

 

Kirk stepped forward; Spock stepped with him. Approaching Pon Farr or not, Spock was not about to let his emotions control him. “All right. You take him back to Sickbay. Make sure they restrain him.” Kirk said as they lifted McCoy to his feet, keeping his weight balanced between them.

 

“Captain,” Spock began, “I believe it is prudent that you have your wounds treated. I shall remain and finish transferring the crew of the Pioneer to the Enterprise.” Spock squashed the voice in the back of his head that argued that he should stay with his mate, that he should be there when the doctor woke up.

 

Kirk made a face, but he conceded, pulling the doctor closer to himself. “You sure you're okay?” He asked in a low tone that Baker wouldn't have heard, even as she came closer. Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk shrugged and flipped open his communicator. “Two to beam up.”

 

 

“What just happened?” Baker asked, tossing a burnt phaser to the floor.

 

Spock folded his arms behind his back. “Dr. McCoy fired his phaser at Captain Kirk three times. I subdued the doctor using my own phaser.”

 

Stark snorted in surprise at his bland and entirely useless answer. “I think we got that. What I'd like to know is why.”

 

“I am, as yet, uncertain.” Spock responded, moving swiftly from the room. Stark continued to pester the Vulcan for more answers, but Spock had none to give. Baker, thankfully, sent Stark over to help organize the transition from the other side, so he was able to work more efficiently.

 

Baker insisted on working with him until every person was safely away from the failing ship, but she didn't ask any more questions that he couldn't answer. The work proceeded smoothly and swiftly. Even with making preparations for everyone to have a place to sleep (the whole crew of the Enterprise would be bunking doubles for the foreseeable future), the shift was easier than expected. Everyone was eager to leave the Pioneer. Everyone except Baker, that is. Even after all of her crew was removed, she loitered around the empty halls.

 

“It feels almost sacrilegious to be leaving the Pioneer.” Baker sighed. “I don't expect you to understand, but so many people died to protect this.”

 

“I do not believe that their intention was to protect this ship, rather to protect the people aboard.” Spock intoned, raising an eyebrow at the curious human sentimentality.

 

“Of course. It's just... strange to leave this ship after pouring years of our lives into it.” Spock was not sure of the appropriate response, so he didn't respond at all. “It's not even the machines themselves; it's the way we owned the space and made it ours. Ensign Zarov even managed to get us a full-sized, upright piano. How many ships have that?”

 

Spock sensed that this was one of those pointless rhetorical questions. Captain Baker undoubtedly knew that it was the only ship with an old-fashioned upright piano. “While it would be impossible to transfer all such items onto the Enterprise, we have sufficient space for a piano in Rec Room 7.”

 

Baker smiled up at Spock, likely from the belief that his offer was one of kindness. Spock did not correct her as it would be counterproductive to inform her that his offer was only made as a logical maneuver to expedite her departure from the premises without invoking difficulties related to rank. Spock watched over her as they beamed back to the functional ship and programmed in the coordinates of the instrument himself before leaving Baker to finally attend to his own matters.

 

He knew McCoy was still unconscious from what felt like a light drug, but he went to Sickbay regardless because the captain would most likely be there.

 

“Spock.” The captain greeted with no small amount of relief. With the ship idling, the Klingons temporarily in lock down and Spock handling the crew of the Pioneer, Kirk would have had little to do but wait. “How'd it go?”

 

“All personnel of the U.S.S. Pioneer have been safely removed. Although everyone has received their new room assignments, I estimate it will be at least 2.56 hours before the adjustments are complete given that most of them are currently obtaining sustenance. I would advise against free movement for our Klingon guests until that time.”

 

Kirk nodded. Although they both knew that his orders would have been no different, it annoyed the human that he had not spearheaded the shift. Spock would not have been surprised had Kirk come running to assist the instant his wounds were treated. “I just turned in my report to Starfleet.” He handed off his PADD, and Spock quickly skimmed through it. “They want us to go to Organia straight away to defend against Klingons.”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Given the series of saboteurs and the extra taxes upon our resources, this does not appear to be a logical course of action.”

 

“I don't like it any more than you do.” Kirk conceded, “But we're the closest, and Starfleet thinks we'll see a domino effect in this area if we don't stop the Klingons now. I've already given the order. We'll be on our way any minute now.”

 

It was a fair argument and, in the end, Spock's protests would not result in any different outcome, so the Vulcan dropped the topic. He had other concerns on his mind. As Doctor McCoy would have said, there was a pink elephant in the room. “Your report does not include any mention of the incident between yourself and Dr. McCoy.”

 

“It doesn't? Minor oversight.” Kirk shrugged, unaffected by his blatant lie. “I'll be sure to follow up with a more thorough report after we've discovered the underlying cause of Bones' strange behavior. You wouldn't happen to be able to shed some light on that topic, would you?”

 

As First Officer of the Enterprise, Spock was a moment mired. Regulations demanded that he report the attack on the captain, yet he knew from his own encounters with McCoy's mind that the origin of the attack was not McCoy himself. To file such a report with so little data would result in a misleading and incomplete report, which was also against regulations and would have distinct, negative consequences for both the doctor and himself. However, he did have the flexibility to wait up to 48 hours before sending his report. It was not a loophole he generally employed, but it appeared to have its uses today. “I have little more information than you. His violent behavior was unexpected and baseless to my knowledge.”

 

Kirk nodded, slowly, watching McCoy's chest move up and down on the bed next to him. His arms and legs were both restrained and Spock had to fight the sudden urge to release his mate. That would do no good. “Right before he went loco,” Kirk began, “We were talking about the saboteurs. He knew one, Hongli.” The captain padded forward excitedly. “He also knew Sagumpta.”

 

“A shallow connection, given that he was Sagumpta's supervisor.”

 

Kirk was shaking his head, moving toward the CMO's office and the computer within. Spock followed him in. “No, he said they'd met before they came to the Enterprise. Computer, cross reference Nurse Sagumpta and Dr. McCoy's professional and personal information with Lieutenant Hongli's of the U.S.S. Pioneer.”

 

“Searching.” The mechanical voice announced.

 

Spock pulled up the PADD Kirk had handed him earlier and conducted his own search. The computer may be significantly faster at this process, but it wasn't able to make the same intuitive connections that he could.

 

The computer chirped. “No connections found.”

 

Kirk frowned and turned off the computer with more force than necessary. “How can there be nothing? I know Hongli is in communications, so professionally, they aren't linked, but what about the Academy?”

 

“All three attended at different times.” Spock supplied, not raising his head from his own search.

 

“They're not from the same area?”

 

“Negative.”

 

“Damn.” Kirk grumbled, but flipped the switch back on. “It may not give us any answers to Bones' situation, but there must be a link between the saboteurs themselves. Computer, repeat cross reference without Dr. McCoy.”

 

“Searching.” A minute stretched itself out between them while they waited, Spock still skimming through data. “No connections found.”

 

“That doesn't make any sense. How can two people with absolutely no connections both go crazy and attempt to destroy their own ship in the same way? They have to be connected somehow.”

 

“We must also be able to link the Pioneer's other culprit. Perhaps they are not connected to each other, but are all connected to something or someone else.” Spock suggested.

 

“Like Earth?”

 

“Something more precise, with connections to substantially fewer people.” Spock continued, narrowing his own search as he went.

 

Kirk was skimming through data on the computer himself now. “Different ships, different ages, different fields, different backgrounds.” Kirk rubbed his temples. “Both our ships have gone to some of the same planets, but only Bones is ever on landing parties.”

 

Spock straightened his already straight back. There was one planet that all four people had in common in their histories, “Capella IV. They were all stationed on Capella IV for one month or more; however, because they were not stationed at these locations at the same time, the computer did not list the planet as a connection.”

 

“Dammit.”

 

Spock continued, unhurried. “Computer, please confirm that at least one member of the U.S.S. Defender and the U.S.S. Farragut was stationed on Capella IV for a period of at least one standard month.”

 

The computer beeped, then, “Confirmed.”

 

“Spock!” Kirk gave a stage whisper. “That was where Bones first encountered the Romulans. They may all have had a run in with a Romulan.”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. He had already drawn this conclusion. He had also concluded that, “Our first supposition was likely incorrect. It is not a matter of what the Romulans were able to obtain from the doctor, but rather, what the Romulans left behind.”

 

.o0o.


	17. Chapter 17

.o0o.

Part 17

.o0o.

 

Spock glided across the link into McCoy's slumbering mind. The giant structure that presented itself was somehow more hollow, more empty than his other visits. The walls surrounding the castle seemed more imposing. It was still and quiet, things the Vulcan never associated with his sassy human friend. A sense of foreboding hung heavily in the air, like being swaddled in a thickly stitched tapestry.

 

Stepping into the shadowy halls, Spock found himself tearing down cobwebs to make his way through. The light was dim and tinted a sickly green color. The walls creaked, the light flickered, and there was a strangely pervasive sound of rattling chains which seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

 

His mind returned to a human story his mother had often told him as a child about a castle, a dragon and a damsel in distress. It seemed vaguely appropriate for the situation, though he was certain the doctor would rebuke his casting. Logically he knew that the setting he was encountering was likely due to his remembrance of the fairy tale, but that did not change the environment.

 

Spock had discussed possible causes with his captain for nearly twenty minutes with no final solutions. That the Romulans were behind the attacks, he was certain. It seemed entirely plausible and, in fact, likely that whatever had been done to McCoy's mind had also been done to numerous other Starfleet officers, and that the Federation itself was in danger.

 

The question remained: What _had_ been done to his mind? What sort of dragon was Spock about to encounter?

 

There was a plethora of telepathic maneuvers that could result in the doctor's strange actions, and many more that could explain the saboteurs' behavior. And those were just the ones that the Vulcan was aware of. Certainly the Romulans had more techniques available to them without such a strict moral nature.

 

“Could it be set after a specific date? Is it possible to have this self-destruct triggered when someone is close to finding out the trap? Would knowing another culprit's guilt set off alarms? Is it possible that each action is dictated by an outside source, a controlling Romulan? What about visual cues?” The captain had blithely shouted out possibility after possibility, but Spock knew it was unlikely that just the two of them would pin-point exactly the cause even if they could run through the entire gamut. Like looking through millions of lines of code to find a misplaced comma, the task would take far too much time to be of any use to them at this point. Instead, Spock intended to find the cancerous growth himself and remove it.

 

Spock walked swiftly down the hall. He knew the interlocking hallways would lead him to four distinct rooms, each as likely as the last to carry the intruder. Perhaps they all did. Just as he was about to head left toward the room of knowledge, another hallway lit up with glowing green footprints. They led him through a maze of turns until they stopped dead at one door. Spock pushed hard against the thick wooden door that led to the room of memories. Inside, the cavernous size of the room was belied by the shallow light peaking in through the eerie glow of the hall and the blackness that filled the rest of the room.

 

And very suddenly the room was alight with the brilliant glow of fire. As it arched towards him, Spock was able to get a clear image of the space through the thousands of mirrors reflecting light into every inch of the cavern. Crouching low in the center of the room was the source of the fire, a large green dragon with gold trim. Spock twisted himself swiftly on one heel and threw his back against the outside wall opposite the door. His back hit with a clang, and he looked down unbidden to see that he'd somehow acquired the full plate-mail garb of the white knight from his storybook. The fire trailed him out the door and wrapped the wooden material in a warm hug.

 

Spock chanced to glance around the corner again. Light glinted off a couple mirrors, but otherwise it was dark. Spock crossed the doorway in a flash and drew the sword that appeared at his side. He hacked off a piece of the door that wasn't on fire and tugged off his tabard. Twisting the cloth around the wood and rolling it along the flaming door, Spock created a torch.

 

Now, if he recalled the story correctly, the white knight is supposed to pierce the dragon's heart with his sword, which was oddly located in the same exact place as a human heart. Stealth was not going to be on his side, but he had greater maneuverability and speed. Hopefully. Spock was certain that his presence was much more powerful than whatever remnants remained of the Romulan. He could defeat this dragon.

 

Charging into the room with his torch held high, it quickly became apparent that speed was not going to be on his side. The scattered mirrors were precious, and Spock found it difficult to dodge them while maintaining his original run. However, the sole glimmer of the torch was enough to light the entire place with the aid of the mirrors. The dragon turned about, but its head could not lock on him; Spock realized that the mirrors were also obscuring the dragon's view. Wedging the torch into a crack in the ground, Spock freed his other hand to hold the sword more securely.

 

Inching around in a wide arc, Spock contemplated sneaking up behind the dragon. But his footsteps echoed on the stone floor, and Spock was narrowly able to avoid a second burst of flame by stumbling back a few steps. Switching directions, Spock hurried the other way, hoping to outmaneuver the beast. The dragon turned and followed, making his own semi-circle to keep pace with the Vulcan.

 

If this image of himself, Spock thought, was destroyed, he could easily make another. But his standing in the doctor's mind would be damaged severely. He might not be able to remove the intrusion at all.

 

Yet, the dragon wasn't breathing fire again, though the sound of his boots continued to echo. Perhaps it needed a moment to recharge? That would be Spock's advantage. Not wasting a moment to think, Spock leapt forward, dodging through the mirrors and racing toward the dragon.

 

But he wasn't fast enough. The dragon opened its mouth wide. Spock looked from side to side and spotted one of the pits for wretched memories off to his right. He skidded and slid into the hole, clutching the outside with his fingertips. His feet dangled above the bottom feeling chilled while his hands were warmed by the flames passing above him.

 

Pulling himself up with a sense of urgency, Spock retrieved his sword and ran the final distance to the green dragon. It swung at him, and Spock turned and dodged, driving the sword's point into the dragon's heart in one smooth jab. The dragon faltered and fell, the sword clanging to the floor. The body flickered in and out like a broken computer screen and then disappeared.

 

Then a new one took its place. Spock bolted.

 

Spock was unsure of what his next move should be. Such a powerful representation was likely caused by a direct connection to something within the room. One of these memories was allowing the dragon to persevere. Destroy the memory, destroy the dragon. Destroy the dragon, and Dr. McCoy would be in control of himself again. How would he even locate the correct memory? The room was filled with memories.

 

Then, a glint in one of the reflections caught his eye. The chest! It was the perfect place to hide it. McCoy would have no conscious access to it and thus could not give a warning of the plot.

 

Spock twisted out of reach of another set of flames and nearly fell into a pit. Would the doctor be upset if he knew he was sacrificing a memory for his freedom? Was it not the doctor's desperate pleas to keep his memories that got them into this mess of a marriage in the first place? Did Spock really have a choice?

 

Spock reached the chest with approximately ten point three seconds remaining before the dragon was recharged, assuming, of course that there was a constant rate at which the dragon recuperated from each attack. The lid was already busted open. Spock took up the mirror inside to see distinctly male features, pointed ears and raised eyebrows that were not his own. It seemed logical to assume that this face before him was that of McCoy's attacker, the Romulan who'd invaded his mind. Flipping over the mirror, Spock found the back was charred black. Glowing green words peaked through the char, but between foreignness of the language and the blackened wood, he could not read them. Spock glanced up at the other mirrors. Even the ones the dragon had directed his attack had not caught fire. This seemed like his best option.

 

The dragon roared; his time was up. The fire was quickly approaching. Spock tossed the mirror to the ground and smashed the hilt of his sword into its surface, shattering the glass into tiny pieces. The dragon vanished along with the flames in an instant.

 

Spock found himself drawing quickly back into his own mind as a flood of emotions flared to life. McCoy was back in control.

 

“How did it go?” Kirk was asking before Spock even opened his eyes.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I believe I was successful in removing any overt threats.”

 

“Overt?” Kirk parroted back, hands already working to remove the straps keeping his best friend tied down. “So there's a chance this could happen again?”

 

“Yes.” Spock responded honestly. “However, I believe that occurrence to be unlikely given the intricacy of this process of planting as well as the need to remain undetected.”

 

Kirk's expression was grim, but he nodded. “Starfleet will want to pull him and get a full workup with all the others who spent time on Capella. I'm going to need a damn good argument to keep him here.”

 

“Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

 

Kirk bent over and squeezed the doctor's shoulder briefly before answering the comm. “Kirk here.”

 

“Klingon vessel approaching, Captain.” Uhura called.

 

“On my way.” Turning it off, Kirk turned to Spock, who'd already stood with the intention of following. “You can stay here, if you'd prefer.”

 

“That will not be necessary.” Spock clasped his hands behind his back and followed Kirk out. In truth, he could feel even from this distance that the doctor wanted him far away. He'd essentially just found out that he was involved in Brigley's murder and had made an attempt on the captain's life. Spock was unsure how to deal with such visceral, human reactions.

 

“You really think he's going to be okay?” Kirk asked in the turbolift.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. This was obviously one of those sentimental human moments when Spock was supposed to console him in some way. “I believe that with my connection to Doctor McCoy, it should be sufficiently safe for him to return to work.”

 

Kirk dropped the subject, but Spock was still uncertain if he had given a satisfactory response. Spock moved off to his seat.

 

“The vessel?” Kirk demanded.

 

“Maintaining distance.” Uhura noted.

 

Kirk accepted the PADD from his yeoman and skimmed through the contents. He hummed to himself and then announced to the bridge, “Negotiations with the Klingon Empire are on the verge of breaking down. Starfleet Command anticipates a surprise attack. We are to proceed to Organia and take whatever steps are necessary to prevent the Klingons from using it as a base.”

 

“Strategically sound.” Spock responded, moving to stand next to his captain. This news was not unexpected. “Organia is the only Class M planet in the disputed area, ideally located for use by either side.”

 

“Organia's description, Mister Spock.” It was a show for the bridge crew, Spock noted.

 

“Inhabited by humanoids. A very peaceful, friendly people living on a primitive level. Little of intrinsic value. Approximately Class D minus on the Richter's scale of cultures.”

 

“Captain!” Sulu interrupted. “The automatic deflector screen just popped on. Body approaching.” The ship surged to the side and everyone standing lost their balance.

 

Kirk lurched forward, then stumbled back toward his chair. “Phaser banks, lock on. Return fire. Maintain firing rate, one hundred percent dispersal pattern.” The ship rocked back. There was a moment of quiet anticipation.

 

“Captain, the other ship doesn't register. Only drifting debris.” Sulu reported from his station. “We got him.”

 

“Hold battle stations.” Kirk prompted. “Damage report, Mr. Spock.”

 

Spock looked down at his screen and read off, “Minor, Captain. Blast damage in decks ten and eleven, minor buckling in the antimatter pods, no casualties.” Spock finished, something about this event struck him as odd. “We were most fortunate.”

 

“No contact, Captain.” Sulu cut in. “He blew up all right.”

 

Spock examined his own controls again to confirm Sulu's response. Destruction with only one strike? Even assuming the shields were down, as was unlikely aboard a Klingon vessel, completely obliterating such a ship so swiftly would be most improbable with their weapons. It was as if the Klingons had planned for this to happen. A trap perhaps? Or maybe bait to force the Federation to deal the first blow in some larger battle? Were they after the Klingons aboard the ship? Did anyone from the Empire even know they were on the Enterprise?

 

Gazing across the room, Spock caught Kirk's eye. It seemed as if the captain had drawn the same conclusions. There was more to this.

 

.o0o.


	18. Chapter 18

.o0o.

Part 18

.o0o.

 

McCoy awoke to memories like scattered scenes in a gruesome horror movie floating to the forefront of his mind. He awoke to the knowledge that he was as culpable, moreso even, than Sagumpta for Brigley's death. He remembered handing off the lethal medicine, knowing exactly what it would be used for. He remembered the feel of Brigley's half-cooled body as he maneuvered it into the vent, his nurse helpfully prodding at limp limbs. And he remembered Brigley's youthful face, looking deceptively like a sleeping child as they closed the access point to the vent.

 

His stomach churned and he located the waste basket by his bed. He was in Sickbay, then.

 

And then he remembered his captain's face, alarmed, disbelieving as he pulled the trigger.

 

A stream of panic wrung through him. Had Kirk been injured?

 

“The captain is well.” Spock's steady, sure voice broke into his thoughts. “I am uncertain if this is due to your poor marksmanship or an impressive skill in resisting mental manipulators. In either case, I am recommending re-certification before you are allowed to carry a phaser again.”

 

McCoy turned sharply to look at the Vulcan. Had that been a joke to ease the tension? If it were coming from Kirk, he'd have assumed it was a strategic lie to keep him from being allowed near weapons while they tried to determine if he was a threat, but Spock didn't lie. McCoy wasn't convinced he ever wanted to carry a phaser again.

 

The doctor shook his head sharply. He was not prepared to let such depressing thoughts control him, at least, not in front of Spock. “I don't know what you're complaining about. Sounds to me like my bad aim just saved the captain's life.”

 

“Statistically speaking, the likelihood of your inability to aim properly being more valuable than successful use of your phaser is insignificant. I do not relish the idea of you acting in any way as my defensive agent.”

 

Was Spock still joking? Had he ever been joking? His tone was still somber, and McCoy just couldn't see Spock having tried to make a joke in the first place. Silence stretched on. McCoy contemplated taking a peak over the link to see how bad things really were. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he could handle what he found there.

 

McCoy's stomach rolled. “It's my fault Brigley is dead.”

 

“On Vulcan, we have a saying for this. It is difficult to translate as we think of minds in a different way than humans, but an adequate expression would be that... an unconscious mind cannot be held accountable for the actions of its conscious body.”

 

McCoy snorted. “A drunk is not excused from the consequences of his actions.”

 

“An inebriated individual is not completely unconscious of their actions. One might also argue that this individual chose to become drunk as well. You did not choose to allow the Romulan control over your mind.”

 

McCoy turned and pulled his knees to his chest, feeling like a petulant child even as he did so. Spock just didn't understand that this was an emotional reaction. He felt guilty over Brigley's death and his involvement in it, and no amount of coaxing was going to change that. But there was something worse there, too, and it wasn't something McCoy was prepared to face. “Just drop it, okay?”

 

“All right.” Spock agreed, waiting exactly three seconds before continuing. “Do you believe that Nurse Sagumpta should be held accountable for her actions while subject to the Romulan's control?”

 

“Cheater.” McCoy grunted.

 

McCoy could feel Spock's eyebrow go up. “I acquiesced to refrain from discussing your involvement. We are now discussing Nurse Sagumpta.”

 

“No, you're trying to point out that I have a double standard.” Letting some of his anger escape, McCoy clung to the feeling, unwilling to acknowledge the rising sensation of fear that was drowning out even his despair. He turned and crossed his arms. “It won't work. You know why? I do believe Sagumpta should be held accountable for her actions. There shouldn't be creatures who can break into your mind and take things away from you and control you. And if there are, then Sagumpta should damn well have been able to fight them off. She should have been able to send a message through, something, anything.” McCoy found himself leaning into the warm, bright blue of Spock's uniform shirt, and Spock must have been sweating a lot because McCoy was most assuredly not crying. “She should have at least been aware that something was happening.”

 

Spock brought one hand up to rest on the doctor's shoulder, then the other. It wasn't comforting in the same way his mother's hand on his head had been, but it was comforting. Spock's hands were warm; his chest was warm, and McCoy felt some of his despair give way.

 

“How can I ever trust me to be me again? How do I know that my thoughts are my own and that I'm not going around murdering people in my sleep?” His voice was muffled in Spock's shirt, but McCoy didn't care if the Vulcan could hear him or not. He wasn't even supposed to be here for this breakdown.

 

“I will continue to train you in defending yourself against telepathic invasions. Until your training is complete, I will keep watch over you.”

 

Under other circumstances, McCoy would have put up more of a fight, but all he felt now was relief. He pulled back slightly, putting some distance between them. “They're not going to let me stay on the Enterprise. I'll be a threat.”

 

Spock folded his hands behind his back. “It is true that they are attempting to recall any officer who was placed on Capella IV for any duration of time to be examined by Vulcan Healers and quarantined on Earth. However, given our relationship, the captain was able to 'vouch' for your reliability.”

 

“You told Starfleet about us?”

 

“They were already aware.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “Under the standard UFP Treaty, all Federation planets are obligated to inform Starfleet of any occurrences which have substantial impact on Starfleet officers, including, but not limited to, severe physical and/or mental affliction, conception of children, changes in marital status, and any citizenships granted.” Spock quoted the text as if he had it in front of him and he was simply reading.

 

McCoy squinted. “So... your parents told them.”

 

“Undoubtedly.” Spock continued, “As per regulation, I have also formally requested Dr. M'Benga as my primary physician.”

 

McCoy sighed. “If Starfleet knows we're married, they're not going to let us continue to work together.” It was at the captain's discretion, of course, but Starfleet felt strongly that marriages tended to disrupt the strict hierarchies in chain of command. Low ranking officers could get away with it if they worked different divisions, but that was always a hassle when it came to promotions.

 

“The captain has made some changes while you were unconscious.” Spock scrolled through a few pages and handed him his PADD.

 

McCoy skimmed the updates, then reread them more thoroughly. Despite the attempts on his life, Kirk had apparently made every effort to keep McCoy on his ship. Not only had he moved Medical out from under the broad heading of Sciences where he would no longer report to Spock, the captain had also put him up for promotion on the grounds that without his contribution to unraveling the Romulan plot, Starfleet's fleet would have been decimated. The message was clear. McCoy could practically hear Kirk say, “Bones, I'm not letting you go.”

 

.o0o.


	19. Chapter 19

.o0o.

Part 19

.o0o.

 

Kirk was pinching the bridge of his nose trying to fight off a headache when Spock returned to the bridge. The Vulcan gave him a curt nod before moving to his station, which Kirk took as a sign that McCoy was going to be okay. He wasn't sure if Spock's version of okay was anywhere close to his own, but he did take comfort. If Spock had deemed Bones fit to return to service, that would have to be enough for now.

 

They were about two hours out from Organia, and he was increasingly nervous about leaving his ship in the state that it was. Scotty had gone through the ship with a fine-toothed comb and found nothing, so he felt a bit better about the ship not spontaneously exploding while he was away, but there was still so much to worry about. The Klingons had, remarkably, been much less problematic than his own people, who seemed eager to pick a fight with them. Stark had already been confined to quarters for socking one. And then there was Bones.

 

“Automatic all-points relay from Starfleet Command, Captain, code one.” Uhura interrupted his thoughts.

 

Kirk sighed. “Well, there it is. War. We didn't want it, but we've got it.”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Curious how often you humans manage to obtain that which you do not want.”

 

“War or not, we've still got a job to do. Denying Organia to the Klingons.”

 

“Negotiating with the Organians will be time-consuming, Captain.” Spock responded, as if he himself was loathe to leave the Enterprise. “And time is the one thing we'll have the least of.”

 

“We won't get it by talking about it. The trigger's been pulled. We have to get there before the hammer falls. Ahead warp factor seven.” At that speed, they'd arrive in just a few minutes. Perhaps the Klingons weren't there yet. There was a heavy silence in the air as they waited. Kirk caught himself holding his breath and forced it out.

 

Dropping out of warp with practiced ease, Sulu slid up to the planet, which was thankfully alone on their view screen. No Klingons yet...aside from the ones they'd brought.

 

All sense of hope quickly evaporated at Uhura's next words, “Captain. Unit XY – 75847 report a fleet of Klingon ships in their sector, sir.”

 

“What bearing?” Kirk asked, though he already knew with certainty that they were heading straight for Organia.

 

“Unable to ascertain, sir.”

 

Kirk walked over to Sulu and caught his attention, looking him in the eye. He would have to trust his pilot to keep his ship safe for him. “Mr. Sulu, have the phaser crews stand by their positions. Full power to deflector screens.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Sulu responded immediately.

 

“Mr. Spock and I are going to the planet's surface. You will be in command. Your responsibility is to the Enterprise, not to us. Is that clear?”

 

Sulu nodded. “Perfectly, sir.”

 

Kirk wasn't convinced. “The Klingon fleet is in this quadrant. We know that Organia will be a target. If they should emerge-”

 

“We'll handle them, sir.”

 

“You will evaluate the situation. If there is a fleet of them, you'll get out of here, Mr. Sulu.”

 

“But, Captain-”

 

“No buts. You'll get to safety and alert the fleet. You will not attack alone.” Kirk intoned, using his most captainly voice. “Mr. Spock, let's you and I pay the Organians a visit.”

 

Spock followed obediently, but Kirk could practically feel the reticence coming off of him. He knew the Vulcan would not have suggested that Bones were fit to return to duty if he was anything less, which left Kirk with the conclusion that he was genuinely concerned about the doctor on an emotional level. Kirk began to wonder if this wasn't just about friendship and survival. Grabbing a couple piles of clothes on the way to the transporter room, Kirk pondered the situation.

 

“Spock.” The captain began as they changed, picking his words carefully, “Would you agree with the assessment that Bones, as a medical professional and as a deeply empathic person, would sooner give of himself than allow another person to suffer unnecessarily?”

 

Spock's tone was guarded, “I believe that is an accurate assessment.”

 

“Then why did you not simply explain the Pon Farr situation and ask him directly if he would help you?” Kirk hadn't turned around, but he could hear Spock's movements slow. When Spock didn't respond immediately, Kirk took another stab at it. “Seems to me like that would have been the most logical thing to do.”

 

Kirk was just pulling on his boots to his costume when Bones appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “Usually I have to beg to get off trips like this.” He grumbled.

 

“Usually I don't let you off trips like this, even if you do beg.” Kirk returned, thankful that he'd sent the transporter room operator away while they changed clothes.

 

“You don't trust me.” Bones accused. Kirk wasn't sure if the accusation was made better or worse by the fact that Bones clearly didn't trust himself. Knowing the doctor, he was fairly confident that Bones needed someone to trust him before he could trust himself.

 

“If I didn't trust you, you'd be in the brig.” Kirk was only half-lying. If Spock didn't trust him, then more likely he'd be strapped down in Sickbay. Kirk suppressed the urge to shudder. They both knew that if Spock weren't able to keep on eye on him, that's where he'd be right then. Kirk approached, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. “It's because I trust you that I need you here. The Organians are friendly, nonviolent people. The Klingons... not so much. I need you to keep my crew safe.”

 

Bones nodded, watching silently as they stepped onto the pad and faded away.   
  


.o0o.


	20. Chapter 20

.o0o.

Part 20

o0o.

 

McCoy was combing through Sickbay's records looking for anything else he may have done without being aware of it when Scotty appeared clutching his arm tightly to his chest. “Too many chefs in that kitchen!” He announced merrily. “Every engineer from the Pioneer is anxious to get back to work, and, well, there's just too much jostling going on around pointy objects.”

 

McCoy gently pulled Scotty's arm away from his chest to get a better look at the four deep lacerations running down his forearm. The doctor couldn't think of anything anywhere on the ship that might have caused these injuries, but he knew better than to ask. Engineering personnel always seemed to find their way into the most peculiar injuries. He ran a scanner over the injury to check for irregularities, then made quick work of cleaning it. The doctor was so involved in the simple rhythm of his work that he let the conversation fall one sided.

 

“Why, you're brooding worse than a puppy left behind on a school day.”

 

McCoy frowned, caught between an indignant squawk and an unsettling realization that he felt out of place knowing that Spock and Kirk weren't on the ship.

 

“Ah, Doc, I didn't mean to offend.” Scotty shifted, trying to pull his arm away at McCoy's vindictive pinch.

 

“Mmm.” McCoy barely responded, just finished up his work.

 

“Are you-” Scotty was thankfully interrupted from what was undoubtedly another question about McCoy's health by the sudden blare of a red alert. They glanced at each other and bolted through the door.

 

“Gotta be Klingons.” McCoy muttered.

 

They stormed into the bridge, looking to the viewscreen for answers. A Klingon vessel floated imposingly before them. Sulu didn't turn around to the disruption, fiddling with keys in front of him, the captain's chair left open. McCoy always appreciated his deference.

 

Uhura glanced up. “There's a whole fleet out there.”

 

“They haven't fired.” Scotty announced, confused.

 

“Do they know they've declared war?” Chekov said slowly.

 

Sulu's back stiffened. “They couldn't not know.”

 

There was a heavy moment before the ship rocked, knocking McCoy and Scotty off their feet. Scotty bounced up almost immediately and hurried off the bridge.

 

Sulu pulled himself over and began his evasive maneuvers, but the atmosphere was somehow more tense, more hopeless, more off-kilter without the captain sounding orders. Two, three more hits even as the ship weaved and ducked, and Sulu was ordering Chekov to plug in some coordinates further back into Federation space.

 

McCoy stumbled forward and hung on the edge of the navigation panel. “We can't leave!” He hissed. “Jim and Spock are still down there.”

 

“The captain's orders.” Sulu responded brusquely.

 

“I don't care! We don't leave people behind.”

 

Sulu finally looked him in the eye. “They're safer down there than we are up here. If we don't get out of here soon, they're going to be the only ones left alive.”

 

McCoy clamped down and gritted his teeth. He was right.

 

The ship rocked again, turning, shifting, and jarring. Sulu and Chekov were working furiously over the controls trying to keep the ship in one piece, but it was a losing battle. “Damn.” Sulu grunted. “We're stuck.”

 

Before McCoy could react, the ship stilled and the viewscreen filled with a ridged, stiff face. “You have lost, humans. Surrender now and your deaths will be swift.”

 

Chekov's face had gone extra white, while Sulu's expression was unreadable. “That's not a very good deal.”

 

The Klingon laughed. “It is the only one available to you.”

 

“We have Klingons on board.” McCoy blurted out. “You wouldn't kill your own kind.”

 

“Liar.” The captain snarled. “A Klingon would not allow themselves to be captured by mere humans. Prepare to die.” The screen dissolved into the blackness of empty space. A moment of silence held them before torpedoes were coming onto the viewscreen from all directions.

 

McCoy couldn't help but wonder what would happen to Spock if he died.

 

Sulu stiffened even further and shouted, “Chekov, your Johnson-Tythe field!”

 

“But, sir-”

 

“Now!”

 

Chekov hit a button and the ship was filled with a wave emanating outward with a thunderous roar. It passed the torpedoes, and they shut down spinning backwards and away with the force of the field. The wave passed through all the ships before dissipating.

 

McCoy held his breath. He wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but he was prepared to believe in a miracle. First one Klingon ship, then another flickered as their shields went down. He let his breath escape. Whatever Chekov had done, had given them a fighting chance of survival.

 

“Shields and weapons disabled on us and them, sir.” Uhura reported.

 

Sulu sighed. “Let's get out of here.”

 

“That's what I was trying to tell you. The field can and did shut down both our warp and impulse powers.” Chekov looked rather cowed. “We're floating, same as them.”

 

“Good work, ensign.” Sulu's voice was confident and supportive, his unending optimism peeking out again. “We're better off if none of us have power than all of us having power.”

 

“So, it's a race to who can make the repairs first.” McCoy stated.

 

“What is going on up there?” Scotty was suddenly shouting over the intercom. “We just lost everything.”

 

“Get it back online.” Sulu ordered. “Before they do. The warp is your main priority.”

 

Scotty was halfway through a swear word at the beginning of a tirade when Sulu cut off communications. McCoy couldn't help but be glad that Spock wasn't there to give their exact statistical probability of survival as he had this nasty habit of doing. Scotty had pulled off some amazing feats in the time that he'd been on the Enterprise. He'd done things that no other engineer had managed to accomplish, and McCoy had no doubt that if he were in a competition with the engineers of each of the Klingon ships on how quickly he could repair the engines, Scotty would win hands down. But that wasn't the competition. Who knew if Klingon vessels were simply easier to repair? Who knew if they had some sort of back-up system that would kick in any second? More importantly, the Klingons were undoubtedly working on their weapons, which, knowing Klingons, would be designed for easy repair. And worse, with all the damage they'd already sustained, everything would be more difficult. Looking around the bridge, though, it looked like no one needed a reminder of any of these facts.

 

“Do we even stand a chance?” Uhura half murmured, half asked.

 

“Of course we do.” Sulu stated firmly. “We have the best crew in the entire fleet, not to mention some of the star engineers off the Pioneer. The Klingons are still trying to figure out what happened.” McCoy wasn't too sure the extra hands on deck would be any help, especially after Scotty's latest injury, but he wasn't about to stop them from dreaming. “Do we still have communications?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Scanners?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Good. Chances are they are as blind as us, then.”

 

McCoy decided he'd probably be needed in Sickbay any minute as the flood of injured made their way there. He patted Uhura's shoulder on his way out as a gesture of comfort. She was more like him, more willing to let her emotions out in the open to be ridiculed. She was stronger than people tended to give her credit for.

 

Sickbay was a flurry of efficient action. Dr. Sanchez had already been called in and was in surgery, but they'd been fortunate with only a few serious injuries so far. Mostly, Sickbay was filled with less dire cases that the nurses were handling very well.

 

“Dr. McCoy, over here.” Chapel was waving him over to the far side of the room with one of the most severe cases. He vaguely recognized the man as one of the many faces from the Pioneer. A pipe was sticking out of his stomach, blood pooling around him. Perhaps he'd spoken too soon about the serious cases.

 

“Prep operation room 4.”

 

Chapel nodded and hurried away. McCoy could thank small mercies that none of their Klingon guests were in the room.

 

McCoy straightened. That was it. The note, this is what the note had been referring to the whole time. The Klingon captain hadn't believed that Klingons were on board, but he'd have to believe once he saw the Klingons himself. He'd have to believe it once he heard it from a Klingon.

 

“M'Benga!” He shouted across the room. He was sure he'd seen the other doctor on his way in. A dark head popped up and the man was immediately hurrying over.

 

“Sir?”

 

“You're going to need to operate on him.”

 

“You're not going to?” M'Benga's eyes were wide. He hadn't operated since losing two Klingons on the table. That changed a doctor, made them less confident. Anywhere else, he'd probably get a chance to ease his way back in.

 

McCoy shook his head. “I need to go.”

 

“Leonard.” M'Benga whispered, barely audible above the noise. “I don't-”

 

McCoy was already shaking his head. “You're a top notch doctor. And that boy is not a Klingon.”

 

M'Benga nodded slowly and took a breath. McCoy knew he'd be fine. He'd have to be fine.

 

McCoy took off down the hallway. Once the red alert hit, the Klingons would be sequestered into one of the rec rooms where they wouldn't be able to cause any additional problems. They should have been put in the brig, and normally they would have, but Kirk had been attempting to keep them in good spirits, to keep them allies.

 

The redshirts let him by without a question.

 

He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders and stepped into the lion's den. Twelve sets of Klingon eyes were directed at him. He found Kritrok's and ignored the rest. “Captain Kritrok.” He greeted.

 

“Doctor MacCoy.” The captain returned and took on an arrogant tone. “Your ship has been under attack. Since you have come here, I must assume your attackers are Klingons, and you've come to ask for my assistance.”

 

McCoy had been prepared to beg, if that's what it took, but he quickly came to the conclusion that the most success he'd had with the captain had been when he'd stood up to him. He raised his head high. “I have come to present you with an opportunity to repay the favor you owe me, but it appears you would rather remain in my debt.” Kritrok's eyes narrowed and McCoy briefly panicked, wondering if he'd chosen the wrong route. “If we die, you die.”

 

Then, the Klingon smiled a toothy smile. “I will honor this claim. If I can help you, I will.”

 

McCoy nodded, half convinced that a “thank you” would appear as a sign of weakness. “Come with me.”

 

Kritrok followed him from the room, and suddenly it was like a burden was lifted. Kritrok would be at his kindest when no one was watching or judging, or so McCoy had observed when the captain stood guard over his injured crew.

 

They arrived at the transporter room quickly and McCoy dismissed the operator, glad that Kirk had returned his standing. The operator looked like he had half a mind to say something but a glare drove him off.

 

“We're surrounded by a fleet of Klingon ships. We're outnumbered and were attempting to retreat, but they wouldn't let us leave. We've managed to disable their systems for the time being, but we disabled our own in the process.”

 

“So you do not believe that you will be able to get your systems online before they do.”

 

“I'm a doctor.” McCoy ground out. “I believe that hurting people is wrong, no matter the circumstance, and that we should avoid it whenever possible, whether it's Klingons or humans being hurt.”

 

Kritrok seemed slightly disturbed by this statement. “Be sure to not say such things while we are aboard the ship.”

 

“We?” McCoy took a step back. That was one trip he did not want to make. “I figured you would do this on your own.”

 

“I believe your presence will help.”

 

McCoy only hesitated a second. Any minute now, one of these ships would finish the repairs and they would be defenseless, without even shields. If the warp engines were an easy fix, Scotty would be finished with them by now. He had to believe that this is what the note wanted him to do and what the crew needed him to do. Did that even make sense? Why send it to Kirk and not himself? Of course, if the Enterprise were destroyed while he was on it, he wouldn't be around in the future to send the note back.

 

He shook his head. Wasn't a whole lot of options here. “Stand on the pad. I'll put in the coordinates.” Their shields were hopefully still down. Otherwise they might just go splat. McCoy closed his eyes.

 

When they reappeared in the transporter room of the Klingon lead vessel, there were three sets of phasers already pointing at him. Kritrok amazingly told them to stand down. “Take us to the captain.”

 

A tense moment passed and McCoy held his breath. Then, they were on their way to see the captain. Perhaps Kritrok had been recognized. Maybe it had been his uniform. Whatever the case, they weren't dead yet, and McCoy was thankful for that. He was also thankful for the universal communicator Kritrok had passed to him as they switched ships.

 

“My name is Ragerth of the House of Jular. This is my vessel.”

 

“I am Kritrok of the House of Vok.”

 

“Vok?” The captain murmured, dropping his head suddenly. “How did you find yourself in such... poor company?”

 

The captain's eyes switched over to McCoy for a moment before returning to Kritrok. McCoy realized for the first time that Kritrok was actually someone of importance within Klingon society. With such a small following and being found in Federation space, it had never occurred to him. Their chances of survival seemed to have increased instantly.

 

Kritrok air seemed to grow more haughty. “Due to some dishonorable acts, I found myself in need of a ship. The captain of the Enterprise agreed to ferry me and some of my fellows back to Klingon space so that I may deliver my message to the High Council. These humans have done us no wrong. I demand that you cease all attacks upon the Enterprise.”

 

Ragerth seemed dismayed. “You have not be kept informed during your stay. The Enterprise destroyed a Klingon ship just recently. They attacked us. We are now at war. The humans have tricked you. They are not honorable.”

 

McCoy felt all hope vanish, and then his anger bubbled to the surface. “That ship attacked us. We defended ourselves. It was designed to be destroyed, and you all know it.”

 

“Lies! You cannot trust this human.”

 

“Like I was lying when I said there were Klingons aboard?” McCoy's heart was pounding. Kritrok was all that stood between him and a death of a million pointy Klingon spears. He turned to the familiar face. “He would have killed you and your crew because he was unwilling to give us enough time to bring you forward.”

 

“While I am not usually inclined to trust a human more than one of my brethren, I have seen this warrior in action. He has fought beside me for a common cause and refused to give up when all others would have. He is honorable.” It took McCoy a moment to realize what Kritrok was referring to. Of course he could not bolster support for a mere doctor, the Klingons would not understand. However, all this time Kritrok had respected and appreciated the labor he put into saving his own people. He saw the time in Sickbay as a battle for their lives, one that they fought together. “Ragerth, you will allow the Enterprise to leave freely.”

 

“Weapons online.” A voice from the corner reported in.

 

Ragerth stood and stared Kritrok down. “Lock onto the Enterprise.”

 

Suddenly, Kritrok took a swing at the captain, knocking him across the room. Ragerth came back with a knife so large that it could have been mistaken for a broadsword. The other Klingons were not getting involved as the two captains struggled. Kritrok went to the ground, but quickly kicked Ragerth off of him. Ragerth stumbled backward. They twisted and were back on the ground again. And just as quickly as it started, it ended. Kritrok stood up, the knife lodged in Ragerth's chest.

 

Instinctively, McCoy stepped forward to check if he was still alive. Kritrok placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. He would not appear as a warrior if he went to help the injured.

 

Kritrok's voice boomed around the room, loud and powerful, and altogether frightening. “I will be transporting my people over from the Enterprise. Once the Enterprise has been allowed to leave, I will be taking this ship back to the High Council to make my report in person. Are there any other challengers?”

 

The bridge crew was silent, Ragerth's still form on the ground a reminder of what disobedience would bring.

 

“Bring the shields back online.”

 

Kritrok accompanied McCoy back to the transporter room, which didn't really make McCoy feel any better. Had he done the right thing? Their lives now rested entirely on whether one Klingon would keep their word. At least that one Klingon was Kritrok.

 

“You do not seem satisfied, human.”

 

“There are... some of our people on the planet's surface.”

 

Kritrok shook his head. “You will have to leave them. It will not be safe to return here. Organia will belong to the Klingons.”

 

McCoy couldn't think of anything to say. He would find a way to come back for Kirk and Spock.

 

“Have my men brought to the transporter room so that I may take them aboard my new ship.”

 

It was the last shred of control he had over Kritrok, and he was going to have to hand it over. Kritrok had proved himself, hadn't he? Worse case scenario, they'd be in the same boat they'd been in before. “Okay.” He stepped up on the pad.

 

“And MacCoy,” Kritrok added, “Do not expect any more favors from me.”

 

McCoy frowned. “We're even.”

 

Kritrok nodded. Somehow his face seemed more friendly than his words. Unlike Sulu's face that greeted him as he transported back.

 

.o0o.

 


	21. Chapter 21

.o0o.

Part 21

.o0o.

 

Kritrok, as it turned out, was true to his word. He waited just long enough for them to get their engines online and they were able to remove themselves from the area with all due haste. Thirty minutes crawled by at warp 4 in awkward silence before they dared to stop.

 

Sulu had been more bottled nervousness than upset at finding McCoy transporting back from the Klingon vessel, but McCoy knew it would be some time and effort before he would be able to smooth that out. He'd given a curt explanation and Sulu had swallowed it, understanding immediately the desperation that came with his actions. He hadn't even argued when McCoy said that they would be sending the Klingons onto the other ship. There was no way that Sulu was going to leave this out of his report, though. Perhaps his demotion would occur as swiftly as his promotion. The fact that McCoy outranked him served no purpose when Kirk had put Sulu in charge, baring a medical emergency.

 

There was a moment of silence following Sulu's order to stop. The resounding question seemed to be: what now?

 

“Uhura, open a channel to Star Fleet and explain our current situation.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Chekov waited about two seconds before asking over Uhura's lovely voice, “What are we going to do about the captain and Mr. Spock? Organia's going to be overrun with Klingons.”

 

Sulu looked up at McCoy, who wasn't sure what that look meant. Did Sulu somehow blame him for this situation? Or was the look an ask for assistance? “We may have to wait some time.” Then, he recognized the expression. The confident, optimist Sulu was looking for hope.

 

McCoy cleared his throat. He was surprised to realize that he did have hope. “At least we know they're still alive.” Technically, the doctor could only be sure that Spock was alive, but he couldn't imagine any possible situation where Spock would permit the captain to die before him.

 

“Admiral Archer is on transmission.”

 

“Transfer him to the debriefing room. Doctor, would you care to join me?” Sulu said it as a request, so McCoy shrugged and followed him out. “Lt. Riley, you're in command.”

 

Sometimes, McCoy hated regulations. Like on those long nights in the Academy that he'd spent an inordinate amount of time trying to first decipher and then memorize scrawls of text which never seemed to make sense and rarely seemed useful. He'd never found studying as painful as on those endless nights. In medical school, he just seemed to acquire the terms by osmosis.

 

They met Baker and Stark in the debriefing room with a wide-screen version of Archer. Archer must have called them in immediately, and their swift response meant that they were likely waiting for this call. He knew that the pair hadn't done anything yet to make him distrust them, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were somehow up to something. Of course, McCoy couldn't be sure if the feeling stemmed from them seeing him when he wasn't in control of himself or from some unseen aura.

 

“Effective immediately, Captain Baker will be taking control of the Enterprise and Commander Stark will be acting First Officer.” Archer announced without preamble. His tone was efficacious, but immediately softened. “I understand that you are very concerned with the well-being of Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock.” Archer cut them off before they could raise any complaints or say anything at all. “As am I. However, there is much more at stake here than simply the safety of two people.”

 

McCoy wanted to protest that these weren't just any two people, but he grit down and swallowed his blustering comments. Losing his temper wasn't going to do any good here. He tried to maintain his calmest tones. “All due respect, but those two people are my friends and they're in danger now. As far as I'm concerned, that overrides the possibility of other threats.”

 

Archer was already shaking his head. “Unfortunately, it's no longer a possibility, but an absolute. The only question remaining is one of timing. The Klingons have already declared war, and with the recent slew of internal damages to our flagships, we have major repairs to be made before we're in any condition to be fighting them.”

 

“How long do you think it will take to get reinforcements out here?” Stark was stepping forward. “Protecting the boarder has got to be our top priority.”

 

“It is. Your orders are to dock at Star Base Six, have the Enterprise repaired and transfer excess crewmembers. From there, the Enterprise will be on patrol in that quadrant until the Farragut and the Potemkin can meet you at Organia to remove the Klingons and recover your captain.”

 

McCoy had a sinking feeling at Archer's words. Star Base Six was already two days out, so that would be a minimum of four days before they might even consider returning to Organia. “About how long will this all take?” He demanded.

 

“The reinforcements should arrive within six weeks.”

 

This time, McCoy couldn't contain himself. “Six weeks? There are Klingons all over that planet. Jim and Spock don't have six weeks.”

 

“I'm sorry, but there aren't any other ships available to help.”

 

Sulu's hand came up to McCoy's shoulder and it was mostly unwanted, but McCoy wasn't feeling childish enough to pull away. “The first few hours of an invasion are the most critical. If they've made it this long, they're out of hot water.”

 

McCoy frowned. Knowing his friends, they'd probably just jumped out of hot water and into a frying pan. Jim Kirk didn't know how to keep himself out of trouble. At that exact moment, Spock would undoubtedly be reciting some ungodly low statistic to express the likelihood of their survival. If he listened very carefully, he would probably hear the exact percentage resounding over the link. McCoy didn't care to find out. As much as he hated being dragged onto every away mission, McCoy hated being left behind even more.

 

“Captain Baker, I leave this ship in your capable hands.” Archer signed off before anything more could be said, likely missing Baker's salute entirely.

 

Baker stalked from the room and assumed the captain's chair with authority and no trace of hesitance. McCoy scowled at her back. “Ensign, input coordinates to Star Base Six. Lieutenant, please inform the Base that we are on our way.”

 

Both Chekov and Uhura looked up at the new voice, found Sulu's eyes, and waited for his discrete nod before complying.

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

McCoy wanted to assume his normal position beside the captain's chair and discuss the situation quietly as he often advised Kirk, but Stark had already taken his spot and was standing stiffly in his place. Instead, he came up around the other side. “We're really going to leave two good men behind on that planet?”

 

Baker turned to him and gave him a scowl that would give him a run for his money. She didn't keep her voice down either. “Dr. McCoy, if you know some way in which we can infiltrate the area, safely recover Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock and escape from the premises without being blown to pieces, I'd be happy to oblige orders or no, but if memory serves, we were barely able to escape alive this last time. I will not allow this ship to become cannon fodder for some noble but entirely impractical idea.”

 

McCoy was already brainstorming ideas that he could use to make it back to Organia. Baker was right, he knew, but that didn't change the fact that Kirk and Spock were still stranded on that planet.

 

Stark leaned down and whispered something into the acting captain's ear in a volume much too quiet for McCoy to eavesdrop. Baker frowned and looked up at him, and McCoy knew he was the target of her next comment. She kept her voice low, like she was trying to avoid drawing extra attention, but the bridge was too quiet and too small for it to be particularly effective. “Given your involvement in the Romulan sabotage efforts, I cannot in good conscience allow you to maintain your position on this ship. Effective immediately, you are relieved of your duties as Chief Medical Officer and are only available for emergencies. Captain Kirk should have done the same and I can only assume that your friendship blinded him to the dangers of his actions. You are confined to your quarters until a Vulcan healer can confirm that there is no possibility of a reemergence of the Romulan influence.”

 

McCoy heard the words with little surprise. He was more inclined to agree with Baker's take on the situation than he'd been to go along with Kirk's insistence that he was perfectly safe. His desire to defend himself was more to preserve Kirk's reputation than his own. He suddenly felt weak and defeated. “You're in my quarters.” Was all he managed. It was one of the many changes in lodging when they rescued the crew of the Pioneer. That was the first moment he really minded the change. After all, he spent more time sleeping in a cot in Sickbay than in his own bed.

 

Baker didn't bat an eye. Nor did she offer to move, and it honestly irked him a little. She scanned through a list on a PADD. “You're listed as living in room 3F 125.” Spock's quarters.

 

McCoy dropped the issue and unceremoniously stalked out of the room. He wondered if there was a Vulcan Healer on Star Base Six and if they'd be able to give any more clarity than Spock had. Probably not. He wondered if Baker was going to prove herself more positive or negative in their situation. While she hadn't given up McCoy's quarters, she'd also not taken over the captain's quarters, which could be seen only as a sign of respect. And although she'd been abrasive, her logic had been sound. McCoy frowned. He was starting to sound like Spock.

 

Spock's door opened automatically, like it'd been programmed for him. It probably had been. Spock likely changed it promptly after the room assignments had been adjusted, and McCoy had been too oblivious to notice. He was suddenly very curious if Spock had wanted him there or if it had been divided among ranks and Spock had nothing but indifference.

 

McCoy cleaned up in Spock's bathroom and sat down on Spock's bed and looked around Spock's room. He laid down and kicked off his boots and tried very hard not to miss Spock.

 

He must have drifted off to sleep, because he was awoken some hours later by the ship jarring suddenly. He found himself knocked onto the floor and prying one of his boots out from under him. McCoy waited a moment to see if it happened again and listened for any attacks. Nothing.

 

“What the hell is going on?” He demanded roughly into his comm unit. Spock's comm unit.

 

There was a pause before Uhura responded, taking time for a suspended officer was not generally high on anyone's priority list, but Uhura made it seem easy. “We're orbiting Organia.”

 

“How is that even possible? We were heading the opposite direction.”

 

“Not sure, sir.” Uhura sounded like she was trying to do ten different things and McCoy felt some guilt at taking up her time, but he couldn't resist one more question.

 

“And the Klingons?”

 

“Present, but not firing.” Uhura cut him off.

 

McCoy slammed his fist on the table and stormed over to the door. It wouldn't budge. Baker must have locked his code out while he was asleep. He sat back on the bed and waited.

 

.o0o.

 


	22. Chapter 22

.o0o.

Part 22

.o0o.

 

Spock followed patiently behind Captain Kirk as they made their way silently from the transporter room to the Bridge. They encountered several familiar faces and a couple less familiar faces on their way, but each new face seemed as eager as the last to welcome them back. Kirk was less responsive than normal, even grunting in reply to some of the cheerful faces.

 

As always, the silence did not bother Spock. In fact, on this particular occasion, he was thankful for it. Inside his head, the link had instantly flared to life as he boarded the ship and McCoy's emotions flooded unhindered into his mind. First, worry and concern, then anger and confusion greeted him. Spock tried to ease McCoy's worries without being entirely certain what they were.

 

Unfortunately, he succeeded and anger became the only prominent emotion he could sense. He was unsure if this was an improvement over the other distracting emotions, but Spock was fairly certain it was at least more normal for the doctor.

 

Sulu was wearing a broad grin when they entered the Bridge and Uhura stood in her excitement. The captain's chair was empty, and Kirk sat down and gazed at the viewscreen. Spock stood beside him. A whole fleet of Klingon ships were orbiting Organia with them.

 

“Sir.” Sulu began stiltedly. “The war...”

 

“Canceled.” Kirk responded.

 

Sulu furrowed his brow and nodded. Spock was unsure if he should elaborate but took his cue from the captain and remained silent.

 

“Mr. Sulu, did I not instruct you to leave should you encounter Klingons?”

 

“We did.” Sulu's words were drawn out, like there was a great deal missing from the explanation. Spock decided that this was likely and picked up a PADD to review what had transpired in their absence.

 

Distractedly, he supplied, “Perhaps the Organians drew the Enterprise back. The extent of their powers was difficult to ascertain.” Kirk shrugged in response. After several long minutes of perusing the backlog of events and finding himself rather uncomfortable with the extent of danger they'd been in, he finally addressed Kirk. “You've been most restrained since we left Organia.”

 

“I'm embarrassed. I was furious with the Organians for stopping a war that I didn't want.” Kirk idly brought his hand up to his face as he sorted out his thoughts. “We tend to think of ourselves as the most powerful beings in the universe. It's unsettling to realize that we're not.”

 

Spock had lived his whole life under the premise that there were beings more powerful than himself in the vastness of space. It was part of what had drawn him to exploration. Thus, it took him a moment to understand the captain's position and formulate the proper response. “Captain, it took millions of years for the Organians to evolve into what they are. You and I have no reason to be embarrassed. We did, after all, beat the odds.”

 

“Oh, no.” Kirk was shaking his head. “No, Mr. Spock. We didn't beat the odds. We didn't have a chance. The Organians raided the game.”

 

Spock decided this was a valid interpretation of events and chose not to respond.

 

The intercom rang. “Baker to Bridge.”

 

Kirk tapped on the arm of his chair. “Kirk here.”

 

“Good to hear your voice, Captain, but I think it's time we got out of here. Let's head back toward Starbase 6.”

 

Kirk looked up at the screen. “I couldn't agree more. Sulu, you heard the lady.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

“And, Captain,” Baker continued, “Can you meet me in the debriefing room in about an hour?”

 

Kirk frowned but shrugged, though Baker would be unable to see either. “See you then.”

 

The ship peeled out of orbit and Spock's mind went back to McCoy. He'd have expected the doctor to meet them at the transporter pads, or, failing that, show up on the Bridge. He'd have to check on him soon to see if he was well.

 

As if reading his mind, Kirk shot up from his chair. “Let's see how Ol' Bones is doing.” They entered the turbolift and Spock unthinkingly corrected their direction from Sickbay to the living section of the ship. Kirk didn't comment.

 

“Much has transpired in our absence.” Spock announced and passed his PADD to the Captain.

 

Kirk handed it back after skimming the contents. “I'm going to kill him.”

 

Although there were a multitude of males mentioned in the passage, Spock was reasonably sure that Kirk was referring to McCoy. “I must insist that you refrain from doing so.” Kirk passed him a look, which he'd only recently identified as his attempt to gauge if the Vulcan was joking. Spock kept his face rigid.

 

McCoy was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed looking surly when they slid open.

 

“What are you doing in Spock's quarters?” Kirk asked innocently.

 

Spock entered and shut the door. “When Stark was making room assignments, he did not account for McCoy being placed anywhere other than Sickbay or the brig, and his room was reassigned to Captain Baker. When it became apparent that the doctor would be allowed to return to work, I switched him to my quarters as a familiar location. I was beginning to wonder if he was even aware of the switch when he chose to sleep in Sickbay instead.”

 

McCoy shrugged it off and returned with, “I really don't like Baker. She has me sequestered in here.” Spock wasn't sure what to make of the shrug. Was McCoy indifferent to being asked to share quarters with him or was he simply too upset with Baker to care either way?

 

“Well, I don't know,” Kirk responded, moving around the doctor to sit in one of Spock's chairs, leaning back like he owned the place. Spock folded his arms behind his back and stood near the closed door. “I think you might have deserved it. What were you thinking, going on a Klingon ship by yourself?”

 

“I was thinking we were all going to die if we didn't try something.” McCoy growled. “Besides, it worked. The ends and the means, and all that jazz.”

 

Intentionally or not, McCoy's mind was translating his odd words into 'the ends justify the means.' “You believe this was the event that the Captain's note was referring to.” Spock stated.

 

“But you said we wouldn't send a note back just to save the ship.” Kirk argued, looking back at his First Officer.

 

“Unless the ship or one of its occupants were to make a difference so profound that it was unavoidable.” Spock supplied.

 

Neither of them appeared to be listening. McCoy was passionately making his case. “Besides, it makes perfect sense. Kritrok was apparently a bigwig for the Klingons and without him, we never would have gotten away from Organia in one piece. If we'd followed our instincts and gotten rid of him first chance we got, you and Spock would have been the only survivors from the Enterprise.”

 

“I suppose this could have been it.”

 

“Or some future event for which we no longer have the Klingons on board.” Spock added, helpfully.

 

McCoy glared at him. “What happened down there, anyway?”

 

Kirk looked contemplative for a moment, then eagerly began to tell the story. “Well, we thought we were going down there on an errand of mercy to protect some defenseless people against the horrors that were the Klingons. We spent so much time trying to convince them to accept our help that we actually ran out of time and had to disguise ourselves as Organians to avoid getting killed by the Klingons. And then the Klingons were killing them by the hundreds and the Organians... they just didn't care.”

 

“What?” McCoy leaned forward intently.

 

“The Organians were actually these incorporeal beings, and oddly enough, the only ones in any real danger of dying were myself and Spock. And they were so powerful. They just... refused to let us fight.” Kirk finished off his story with a shrug. “So, the war is canceled.”

 

Spock debated briefly if he should correct some of the less accurate statements, but decided that it would probably do more to raise confusion than clarify. His report, on the other hand, would be completely accurate.

 

A minute ticked by slowly. Spock could tell that McCoy was feeling a bit awkward. They generally only used the captain's quarters when they all spent time together as it was a bit larger than his own. He wondered if it was the change of scenery that was affecting the atmosphere or if he'd neglected some traditional human hospitality ritual.

 

Kirk was fiddling with one of his antique sculptures and Spock braced himself for the inevitable vaguely inappropriate commentary or question that would appear. McCoy was eying the captain as well, obviously familiar enough with his mannerisms to expect the same result.

 

“You know, Spock, you never did explain Vulcan perception on homosexuals.”

 

“I've been wondering that myself.” McCoy agreed guardedly.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. He had expected the question from McCoy, not from Kirk. “Homosexuality does not exist on Vulcan.”

 

“Wait... what?” McCoy sputtered.

 

“Nor does heterosexuality. These are human terms that are generally not recognized. Mates are established by mental compatibility and logical suitability. Thus heterosexual relationships are by far the most common as they are, in almost all situations, the most logical by way of their ability to produce offspring and continue the Vulcan race.”

 

“I'm sensing a 'but' here.” Kirk prompted.

 

Spock paused a moment to think of the best explanation. “However, there are instances where the anatomy of the partner is irrelevant. For instance, older couples may be undesiring of children as they will not be capable of adequately caring for them and consequently burden others. And, on occasion, a homosexual relationship can be more logical than a heterosexual one. It is generally perceived that the minds of Vulcans of the same gender are more similar and links are more easily formed. Often, recently widowed individuals approaching Pon Farr may be more inclined to create a less permanent link with an acquaintance of the same sex if there is insufficient time to find a life-partner. Similarly, unlinked Vulcans traveling for extended periods of time who are detained unexpectedly may find themselves in need of a mate.”

 

Kirk's open palm slammed down on the table making McCoy jump in surprise. Spock was uncertain if this response was in anger or not. Vulcan mating rituals were rarely discussed, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd said something to offend. McCoy's expression was oddly unreadable and his emotions were all over the place. Kirk wet his lips. “That's what Serin was talking about. He'd said that you linking with Bones was somehow a good sign for Vulcans wanting to join Starfleet. He must have seen your willingness to link as a sign that a Vulcan unable to return to Vulcan wouldn't be a death sentence.”

 

Spock remembered Serin, but couldn't recall any such conversation. He thought it odd that Serin had been willing to bring it up. Then again, Serin may have assumed that the topic had already arisen. “It is one of the concerns a Vulcan must consider when joining.” He conceded.

 

“So,” McCoy broke in, “Homosexuality is just a contingency plan.”

 

“The term is inaccurate, but you are primarily correct. However, there are other causes to consider. Surak himself was in a homosexual marriage because he believed that children would distract him from his aims. Some devoted scholars and researchers follow in his footsteps.” Spock recited this little known fact as if it were mostly irrelevant, but he knew it was potentially inaccurate. Surak, despite his own teachings, was rumored to have married for love. His own parents had married for love, but it was not the Vulcan way. Two logically sound, mentally compatible individuals were sufficient to produce a successful marriage. Spock thought back to the doctor's comment on two computers having nothing to disagree about. On Vulcan, it was somewhat ideal.

 

“Whoa.” McCoy's eyebrows crinkled. “I thought you were a descendant of Surak.”

 

“I am of his blood line.”

 

McCoy plopped back down on Spock's bed. “So, homosexual partners are a result of an emergency or fanaticism. Peachy.”

 

“Perhaps I was unclear.” Spock did not frown, but he was willing to admit that he didn't like McCoy's attitude about the situation. It distressed him, though he was unsure why exactly. “Homosexual relationships are considered honorable among my people, and although our situation is abnormal, we did link our minds in order to preserve life. There is no cause for your shame.”

 

“So, I have a question.” Kirk butted in. “If any Vulcan can link to either a male or a female, does that mean that all Vulcans are bisexual?”

 

McCoy was giving Kirk a look that the captain had referred to on several occasions as 'the hairy eyeball', but Spock was unsure what that meant as eyeballs did not have hair. “Vulcans are biologically inclined to find their mate sexually appealing. This is partially why links are necessary during Pon Farr.”

 

“Jim.” McCoy whipped around. “Leave.”

 

“No way. This is just getting good.”

 

McCoy crossed his arms and growled, “Don't you think this is kind of personal?”

 

“My ship.” Kirk responded. He wandered over to the replicator and started jabbing at the buttons.

 

McCoy coughed, drawing Spock's attention again. “So, by virtue of us being linked, you find me attractive.”

 

Spock thought this was an odd and overall unnecessary statement to make. He'd already confirmed that this was the case. McCoy had to be aware of it as well as he had, on more than one occasion, felt the doctor's attraction. It was the nature of the link. “Vulcans are quite capable of appreciating aesthetics outside of their mental links; however, it is much more difficult to derive sexual stimulation from an individual to whom they are not linked.” Although there were very few humans involved in Vulcan links, Spock found it difficult to believe that McCoy would be completely exempt from this.

 

Spock followed McCoy's gaze to their captain, who was currently munching on popcorn at the table. Spock mentally scanned through the regulations for protocol on evicting a captain from a crewman's personal quarters and came up with a medical emergency only.

 

“I do not understand why this distresses you.”

 

“Because!” McCoy responded promptly and with enough finality, that Spock was unsure if there was an actual reason forthcoming. “Because there's no choice. It's all biological imperative!”

 

“Are humans not also victims of biological imperative? Or have you chosen who to become attracted to in the past?” Spock's eyebrows bunched together in a Vulcan frown. “I believe the Vulcan way to be much more satisfactory. Links are formed on mental compatibility and attraction is based on the links. This eliminates a common problem among humans where physical attraction can override mental attraction, which results in faulty relationships without a strong basis on which to thrive.”

 

“He has a point.” Kirk chirped, throwing some more popcorn into his mouth.

 

“Shut it.” McCoy grunted.

 

“Captain. If you wish to be on time to your meeting with Captain Baker, you must leave immediately.”

 

“Duty calls.” Kirk announced, setting aside his food. “All right. Come on, Spock.”

 

Spock noted that the invitation had not explicitly included himself but did not protest. He followed the captain from his room. The captain whistled as they went and Spock noted that his poor temperament had all but evaporated. Spock was more concerned with the meeting at hand. He was unsure of what Captain Baker's intentions were, but requesting a formal meeting struck him as odd.

 

“Captain Kirk. Mr. Spock. I'm pleased to see you have returned unharmed.” Captain Baker announced as they entered the room. Stark stood beside her.

 

Kirk glanced his way before responding, suddenly stiffer. “Captain Baker. Thank you for keeping my seat warm.”

 

“Archer asked that I take command after we barely escaped the Klingons. I assume their lack of attacks is due to some arrangement you made on the planet's surface?”

 

“It was more like an arrangement made for us.”

 

Spock watched the interaction blandly. He was unsure of the cause of hostility, but he could still detect it there. Kirk did not relax at the knowledge that Baker had only assumed command on Archer's orders, instead, he seemed almost to tense up more. “The Organians were much more powerful than we originally believed. It appears that they have the ability and the inclination to halt any military force between the Klingons and ourselves.”

 

“Then they pulled us back to Organia?” Stark asked.

 

“That would be a logical assertion given the evidence.”

 

Kirk was still staring hard at Baker. “And?”

 

Baker straightened. “And I have no intention of relinquishing command to you at this time.”

 

“The Enterprise is my ship.” Kirk sounded affronted.

 

“Captain.” Baker shook her head and lowered her voice. “Jim. You and I both know you've been making a series of questionable decisions just since I've come aboard. Allowing Dr. McCoy not only free reign of the ship, but to return to work as your CMO after he's proven himself dangerous and unpredictable, that alone would be enough to raise red flags. My own crewman is in your brig for the same offense.”

 

“Dr. McCoy's situation is different.” Kirk responded curtly.

 

“Why? Because your First Officer can keep an eye on his mental state?” Stark butted in with a less friendly attitude. “He was present on the Pioneer when your doctor first acted strange and was unable to prevent injury then.”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. Despite being factual, he was finding this line of reasoning distasteful. He wondered if it was caused by Kirk's harried expression. He'd seen that angry look before and

wondered if he should step in before he engaged in a physical altercation.

 

Baker stepped in first, resting a hand on her First Officer's shoulder. “I'm not trying to pick a fight with your methods, but I think you can agree that that may have been a mistake. Unless, of course, Mr. Spock can guarantee that such an occurrence with Dr. McCoy could never happen again.”

 

All eyes were on him now. Spock wasn't sure why, but he felt relieved that McCoy was not present to hear his response. There was only one logical answer. “I cannot.” Spock considered the options. Unless a more skilled Vulcan healer managed to see the doctor's mind more clearly than he could, which did seem doubtful given the depth of their connection, they could truly only be certain of the doctor's safety if the one who placed the traps in his mind were to die or otherwise rendered completely incapable of using his mental faculties.

 

“All right.” Kirk conceded, a deep frown on his face. “I will keep Dr. McCoy monitored at all times.”

 

But Baker wasn't finished. “You've also kept 12 Klingons aboard this ship, among your crew and not in the brig, even after war was officially declared. You left Lieutenant Sulu in charge of your ship when you had several members of the crew, myself included, with a higher rank and more experience handling crises. Take a few days off to get your head on straight so I don't have to report this.”

 

Kirk let out a huff but didn't argue. If Baker went through with the report, he might lose the Enterprise for a lot longer than a few days. They would all have to be more careful.

 

.o0o.

_TBC in Dependency: Missive_


End file.
